Fallout
by handful of sky
Summary: Kate Beckett works on what may be the most unusual murder case of her career. Will her personal involvement with the victim help her solve the case, or will it cause events to spiral out of control? Now *COMPLETE*
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Castle belongs to ABC. They own everything. I own nothing.

I'm expecting this to run three chapters, possibly four, although this will likely be the longest chapter.

_ETA: This has obviously turned into a much, much longer story than I originally anticipated. The final tally is thirteen chapters. _

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**Fallout**

**Chapter One**

The hospital room is bright and clean. It's what you'd expect in a good facility, but it makes Kate Beckett feel completely out of place. Even though her surroundings are neat and sterile, her clothing is covered with dust and smears of blood. They offered her some scrubs to change into, but it seemed like too much effort. She rubs idly at a dried red stain on her sleeve and wonders if it's her blood or his.

The ringing in her ears has faded enough so that she can make out the sound of footsteps in the hall outside her room—click click click—click click click. The cadence reinforces the words that have been repeating themselves in her head all morning—_means, motive, opportunity—means, motive, opportunity_. She's no closer to an answer now than she was when it all first began.

A moment later, the doctor walks in, carrying her chart. She listens with one ear—nodding in the appropriate places, accepting the sling and the bottle of pain pills, and interrupting the doctor only once to ask when she can expect to be restored to full active-duty status. The advice is not what she hoped to hear, but it doesn't really matter since she has no intention of following it.

Ryan is already hard at work, making phone calls and getting warrants for surveillance footage, but Esposito's waiting for her when she walks out.

"They're cutting you loose?" he asks.

She nods.

"Good. The captain wants me to take you to the station, get your official statement, and then get you home as quickly as possible."

"What's the word from the 15th precinct? Are they cooperating?" she asks.

Esposito shrugs. "As well as can be expected. It's their turf, but when the mayor talked to them about a joint investigation, it wasn't exactly a request."

The paparazzi close in on them as soon as they leave the hospital, but Esposito grabs a patrolman for backup, and between the two of them, they manage to hustle her into a squad car. By the time they make it to the precinct, it's almost 6 a.m., and the mood here now is particularly quiet and somber. The phone conversations, case discussions and idle chatter that normally fill the bullpen are gone, and left in their place are only solemn gazes and hushed whispers as Esposito walks her to her desk. She expected more people to be in already, but as she looks around at the piles of notes and half-drunk cups of coffee scattered on the desks around her, she realizes that they must already be out at the scene, knocking on doors, questioning witnesses, even helping with crowd control.

She stops at her desk and sinks gratefully into her chair.

Ryan notices their arrival and approaches them hesitantly. "You okay?" he asks her.

"Yeah." She moves her arm awkwardly in its sling. "The doctor said it's nothing serious. Should be fine in a week or so." She knows that's not really what he meant, but she can't come up with a better answer.

A frown and a virtually imperceptible head shake from Esposito keep Ryan from trying again. "Here." He holds out black armbands to both of them. He's already wearing one of his own.

She wishes Castle were there to go off on one of those rambling tangents of his. In fact, she knows exactly what he would say.

_You know, this tradition started in medieval times. Ladies of the court would tie a scarf around the arm of their favorite knight, who proudly wore it to signify that he returned the lady's affection. That's where the phrase "wearing your heart on your sleeve" comes from. Wonder when it changed from being all about love to being about grief? Never mind. Now that I think about my ex-wives, it's painfully obvious._

She takes the armband from Ryan and pulls the cloth through her fingers, wincing as the strap's velcro closure catches on the cuts and scrapes on her hands. They weren't deep enough to require stitches or dressings, but they're still tender. "He wasn't really a cop."

"Still feels like we lost one of our own," Ryan says softly.

"He was—unique," Esposito adds as he fastens the cloth around his upper arm.

Ryan pulls his chair over to her desk and pulls out his notepad. "Come on—let's get your statement."

They already know most of it—at least the part she's willing to tell—but she forces herself to go over it again.

"He wanted the Manzetti case file—the double homicide we wrapped up a few weeks ago. He said he needed a few extra details for his next Nikki Heat novel. I took it over to his apartment. I arrived around 9:00 p.m."

She waits for the men to finish writing.

"His mother and daughter were away visiting Alexis's mother, so he talked me into staying for dinner."

_She laughed as he pulled the enormous pan of lasagna from the oven. "How exactly were you planning on eating all of that by yourself?"_

_"It's the only way I know how to make it," he confessed. "Every time I try to cut the recipe down, it doesn't turn out right. Do me a favor and help me put a dent in it?"_

_He looked at her hopefully and she caved._

_"Okay, but I can only stay for a little while."_

"After dinner, we reviewed the case file. He had a lot of questions about wiretapping laws and search and seizure, and we also spent a good deal of time on money laundering."

_He opened a bottle of Chianti to go along with their meal. She limited herself to a single glass with dinner, but accepted another while sprawled on the black couch in the living room as they looked through the file. Somewhere along the way, he poured them both glasses of a rich, smooth port. Whenever she made an effort to leave, he came up with another question or another bizarre hypothesis, and she lost track of the number of times that she said, "Last question."_

_The pictures and notes were scattered all over the surface of the coffee table. They reached for the same one simultaneously, and their fingers twined together. He didn't let go, and neither did she. When she looked into his face, she saw—something. Yes, he really was ruggedly handsome, damn him, but it was more than just that. He looked at her expectantly, as though waiting for her to finally arrive at what should have been a foregone conclusion._

_Whatever it was, it wore down her defenses, at least those few that the alcohol had left intact. She leaned toward him and brushed her lips hesitantly against his. His mouth was warm and softer than she expected. She kissed him again, more firmly this time, and noticed that he tasted sweet, like the port they had just drunk. He kissed her back gently at first, before cupping his palm around her face and tilting her head up to meet him. Her lips opened beneath his and then—_

_There was a shrill ring and the moment shattered as they jumped apart. He picked up the phone, mouthed "Alexis" and said, "Hi, sweetheart!"_

"Beckett?"

Ryan looks at her expectantly, and she shakes herself out of her reverie. "At about 1:30 a.m., he received a call from Alexis. While he chatted with her, I realized how late it was getting, so I started putting the file back together."

_She heard only one side of the conversation, but it wasn't too hard to figure out what was being said._

_"Yes, I ate real food for dinner. Vegetables, even. No, you didn't wake me. Yes, I know it's late, and I'm heading to bed right now. Great. Tell your mother and grandmother that I said 'hello'. Fine, you can tell Dustin too. Have a good time. Love you too."_

_She had gotten the file together, retrieved her bag, and had almost made it to the door when he stepped in front of her, blocking her exit with his body. She wanted to push him aside, but that would have meant putting her hands on his chest, and she didn't trust herself enough to risk the possible consequences of that particular action._

_His voice was low and gentle. "Don't you think we should talk about this?"_

_She looked over at the door, at her feet, over his shoulder, anywhere but into his eyes. "Look, there's nothing to talk about. I didn't mean for it to happen."_

_"Neither did I." He leaned toward her, and she shivered as she felt his breath hot against her cheek. "I'm not going to apologize, though, because I'm not sorry that it did. Are you?"_

_The answer to his question should have been easy. It wasn't. "Castle, please..."_

_"Please, what?"_

_He laughed softly and she looked up to see the all-too-familiar half-smirk on his face._

_"Please let you go? Or please kiss you again?"_

_He leaned in even closer, and his mouth was only millimeters away from hers now. She parted her lips in anticipation, but he backed away instead, and she missed his closeness immediately._

_"It's okay." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'd rather have no answer at all than one I don't want to hear."_

_He placed a hand in the small of her back and let it linger there, caressing her with small, even strokes of his thumb as he stepped aside, opened the door, and guided her through it and into the hallway. "I'll call downstairs and make sure they have a cab waiting for you."_

_"Castle," she argued, "I only had three glasses of wine over a four-hour period, and that was on top of a heavy, if delightful, meal. I can drive."_

_"Fine," he grinned, "I just thought you might like an excuse for your behavior tonight. The moon's not full, so that one's out."_

_"Who says I need an excuse?" she shot back._

_His smile grew even wider. "My mistake. Until tomorrow, then."_

_She turned abruptly before he could see her smile. He might have won the round, but there was still plenty of fight left in her. She walked down the hall toward the elevator, and the shockwave tossed her to the floor before she even heard the detonation._

"I left his place at about 1:45a.m. I was about halfway down the hall to the elevator, when it happened. I was knocked down, but I wasn't unconscious. The door to his apartment was twisted in the frame, but I managed to force it open." She looks at her hands. Three fingernails are snapped off, but she doesn't remember how it happened. "I found him. I called emergency services in case people in other apartments could be helped. I also called Dr. Parish to take care of him. I secured the crime scene as best I could while I waited for the forensic team to show."

The guys finish writing and close their notebooks.

"That's enough," Esposito says. "We'll type it up and get you to sign it later. You know, I'm surprised the captain is still letting you work this case, but we just want you to know that we've got your back."

Ryan nods. "You got that right."

"What about the fan mail?" she asks. "Has anyone picked that up from his publisher yet?"

"A guy from the 15th is bringing it by. The captain said to take it to your apartment as soon as we get it."

"He was only willing to let me in on this case if I promised not to over do it, so I guess he figures I can do a little work from home," she explains.

"Speaking of home," Esposito gets to his feet, "I'll take you there now so you can get some rest, and we'll do everything we can to find the son of a bitch who's responsible. We know how you felt about him."

The hell they do. _She_ doesn't even know how she felt. All she knows is that the roar of the explosion in Castle's apartment was one of the worst things she's ever heard in her life. In fact, it ranks right on up there with, "I'm sorry to inform you that your mother was the victim of a homicide."

She offers Esposito her good arm and hands him the black armband. He takes it from her and fastens it securely around her bicep, and she shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "Kevin?"

"Yeah?"

He perks up, instantly eager to help. There's one thing that remains to be done, and she'll be damned if she's going to be the one to do it. "Would you set up the murder board for me?"

"Sure thing, boss. See you later?"

She nods, and he gets to work. Esposito carries her things to his car and drives her home. She's tired and the motion of the car makes her sleepy, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees the ruined apartment again. She feels the pain of digging through the debris for him until her hands bleed. She remembers how she finally found him-lying half-under a couch cushion, his shirt soaked scarlet.

Javier insists on walking her all the way to her door, and she doesn't bother arguing. She knows when she's beaten. When she fumbles awkwardly trying to insert the keys with her left hand, he simply takes them from her, unlocks the door, and presses them back into her hand.

"You need anything, you call, right?" he asks intently.

"I will," she answers, "and I expect to hear from you the second you find anything."

"Done."

She locks the door behind him and leans back against it for a moment. Her arm aches and her back itches. She wants nothing more than a long, hot bath, but she has a case to solve, and a quick dip will have to do. She puts her sidearm and cuffs on the kitchen table and eases her arm out of the sling. It takes her three tries, but she finally manages to strip the damn armband off. She kicks her shoes off in the living room and pads into her bedroom, awkwardly pulling her top over her head with her good arm.

"Whoa, it looks like I really made it to heaven in spite of all the advice I've gotten to the contrary."

She frees herself from the restraining material and spots a very familiar form reclined on her bed.

"Castle?"

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**End of Chapter 1**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. That privilege belongs to ABC.

A/N: _Thanks to everyone who took the time to read, review, add to favorites, etc. I haven't written much at all during the last several years, and the response has been really gratifying. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint._

_I'd say that this chapter is a very well-deserved T rating. _

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**Fallout, Chapter 2**_

"Of all the stupid..."

Words fail her, so she throws the wadded-up blouse she's still holding at his head and then winces at the resulting stab of pain from her shoulder.

He pulls the clingy red material off of his face and lifts his eyebrows suggestively as he eyes her lacy black bra. "Got anything else you'd care to throw at me?"

"How about a few expletives?" She can feel the blush spreading across her skin everywhere that his eyes touch her. It's more anger than embarrassment and she thinks about crossing her arms over her chest to hide it, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. "There's a reason they call it a safe house, Castle."

"Yeah, well they should call it a boring house. The only book in the whole place was "Hell Hath No Fury". Even _I_ don't have any interest in ever reading that thing again." He gets to his feet and bounces lightly on his toes. "Besides, how am I supposed to help you solve my murder when I'm locked away like some prisoner?"

"You're supposed to wait until I come to you." Honestly, she should have known just how unlikely that was to happen. And she doesn't even want to _think_ about how he managed to get into her place. "At least tell me you weren't seen."

"Not a chance." He's wearing a clean pair of jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt with NYU emblazoned on the chest that he must have found in the safe house. He pulls the hood up over his head and reaches into his pocket for a pair of reflective sunglasses. When he puts them on, she's relieved to see that he was right—to the casual eye, he's not recognizable.

"Since the Unabomber's behind bars, I guess you probably passed under the radar."

He takes the glasses off and pulls the hood back down. "Speaking of bombers, you get any leads on mine?"

"Not yet. We confirmed that your bedroom was ground zero, but that's about it. Have you been able to come up with any ideas?"

He shakes his head. "Things have been moving too fast. Once the Captain and the mayor agreed that I'd be safer if we let everyone think I was dead, everything else was a blur. A few quick snaps for the photographer, and by the way, I had a hell of a time not sneezing with all the dust in the air, and then Lanie had me in the body bag and out the door. Please tell me you don't reuse those things." He shudders at the memory.

It's time for a little payback for his great escape. "You know what our budget is like. You really think we'd throw away perfectly usable body bags?"

"Oh, my god," he swallows hard. "I thought it smelled like some old wino had been in there for a while."

She smiles, just enough so that he knows that he's been had. "That smell was you, remember? Made a pretty convincing stain on your shirt, if I recall correctly."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't all wine." He runs his fingertips across his chest ruefully.

"Lanie take care of those cuts for you?"

"Only needed stitches for three of them. Her bedside manner leaves something to be desired, though. I'm guessing there's a good reason she hangs around with corpses."

"They keep their mouths shut and stay where you put them. I should be so lucky." He winces in mock pain and holds his hands to his chest as she walks over to her closet and picks out some fresh clothing. "How are Alexis and Martha doing?" She knows she should ask about Meredith too, but she can't bring herself to be overly concerned about the feelings of Castle's "deep-fried twinkie" of an ex-wife.

His sits down on the bed again. "They were both pretty shaken up." He runs his hands through his hair and she knows he's thinking about how things might have turned out if they had been home with him instead of in California. "Alexis wasn't happy about having to stay out west or about keeping Meredith in the dark, but my mother..." He allows himself a small smile. "Well, let's just say that she's planning on giving the performance of a lifetime. And since there are only six other people in the world right now who know that I'm still alive and kicking, she's got a fairly large audience."

"You used Lanie's phone to call, right? The last thing we need is a record of your phone being used after the incident."

"Yes. I don't even know where my phone ended up. Everything was such a mess." He tilts his head and eyes her critically, as though really seeing her for the first time. "You look like hell. I figured everything checked out okay at the hospital, or you wouldn't be here." He stands and moves closer to her. "You are okay, aren't you?"

"I'm fine." She closes her dresser drawer a little more forcefully than she needs to and hisses as she jars one of her injured fingers.

"No, you're not." He takes her hands in his and examines them closely, frowning as he finds the broken nails. Then he turns them over and sees the myriad of tiny cuts on her palms and fingers. "All this happened while you were looking for me. Just how much debris did you dig through?"

"As much as I had to," she says as she tries to pull away from him. He's not having any of it.

"Thank you," he says simply. His eyes never leave hers as he envelops her hands in his own and lifts them to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the center of each palm.

She shivers as she remembers the way they kissed last night—no, wait, was it really only six hours ago?

He folds her hands back together gently, as though sealing the caress inside. "I'm going to fix some tea for us while you get cleaned up. Or would you rather have hot chocolate?"

She'd rather have vodka, but, given her dad's history, she has to be careful.

"Tea is fine. There's some in the cupboard over the coffeemaker."

He leaves and she takes her clothes into the bathroom and runs the water in the tub as hot as she can stand it before adding a generous dollop of her favorite bubble bath. She reaches awkwardly behind her back and groans softly as she tries to unhook her bra. It's definitely front-clasp only for the next few days.

"You've been holding out on me."

She looks up, startled. Does privacy mean nothing to the man? He's holding her sling in one hand and looking at her accusingly. "It's just a sprained shoulder," she explains.

"So why didn't you mention it?"

"It didn't seem all that important, Castle."

"If we're going to solve this case, we're going to have to be totally honest with each other." His blue eyes transfix her. "Transparent, even."

"I'll do my part," she says, "but yours is going to be harder. We need to look through everything with a fine-toothed comb: friends, enemies, lovers, financial partners, anyone and everyone who might want you dead. No holding back."

"No holding back," he repeats softly. "Oh, and you'll definitely be needing this again," he says as he lays the sling next to her clothes. At her raised eyebrows, he continues, "I was going to say that I was skiing in St. Moritz and wiped out on an expert trail. But in the interests of complete honesty, I have to admit that it happened while I was hanging a painting in my office. Never stand on a rolling chair. And, by the way, the third day is the worst. Gets better quickly after that, though."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Good. There's just one more thing, then." He puts one warm hand on her shoulder and one on her hip, and turns her slowly so that she's facing away from him. "Let me help you." His fingertips glide surely and smoothly across the skin on her back. He drops a feather-light kiss on her shoulder as he unhooks the bra. "Is that better?"

Oh, this is a dangerous game that they're playing. She knows that this is one of the effects of having your life threatened—the need to hold and be held—but knowing the cause doesn't make it any less intense. "It's better," she admits reluctantly. "Wrong shoulder, though."

His kisses her left shoulder once more, and then his mouth blazes a trail across her spine and up her right shoulderblade before coming to rest right where it hurts the most. "Here?"

"Yes, right there."

He kisses her there again, gently, but thoroughly, and she feels her breath begin to come faster. A series of tiny kisses move from her shoulder to the back of her neck and she leans back against him involuntarily. His teeth graze the junction of her shoulder and her neck, lightly at first, and then harder, and her bra drops unheeded to the floor. His hands slide away from her hips and up along her ribcage, tender and ticklish, smoothing away any thoughts of stopping this before it becomes a conflagration, because it already has.

A piercing shriek from the tea kettle in the kitchen causes them both to start abruptly. His voice is rough and strained as he whispers "I'm sorry," before leaving and shutting the door firmly behind him.

She shakes her head and sighs with both regret and relief. It doesn't take her long to strip off the rest of her clothes before stepping into the tub and slowly sliding into the water. The heat eases the pain in her shoulder, but it also saps her energy, and she lies still for several minutes, content to feel the water lap gently against the smooth contours of her body. It reminds her of the way his hands felt on her. She wants him, and now she knows that he wants her, too. The timing isn't right just yet, but it's as good a start as any.

When the water begins to cool, she finally shakes off her torpor and washes her hair as well as she can before toweling off. She takes her time with her appearance, carefully hiding any obvious signs of fatigue with her makeup. She means to go back to work as soon as possible, and she refuses to look anything less than her best.

He's sitting at her kitchen table with a strange expression on his face and a mug clasped between his hands. There's another mug in front of the seat across from him, and steam wafts gently upwards from the surface of the cup. He must have just poured it. She sits down and blows gently on her tea to cool it off.

"Can I ask you a question?" he starts hesitantly.

"Can I stop you?" she says playfully.

He takes that as consent. "If the kettle hadn't chosen that moment to go off, what would have happened?"

If he wants transparency, she'll give him all he can handle. "I think there's a pretty good chance we would have ended up in bed together." Or on the floor, or, oh god, the bathtub. She feels a tight ball of warmth flare in her midsection.

He nods and takes a sip from his cup before asking, "Is that something you would have wanted?"

"You hear me tell you to stop?"

"No, but..." He runs one of his hands through his hair, leaving little stray tufts sticking up erratically. "If this is just some kind of post-traumatic thing—"

"It's not," she interrupts. "At least, it's not _just_ that."

"Then what the hell is it?" He looks more than a little dazed. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we're not even on a first name basis."

She thinks for a moment and chooses her words very carefully. "Have you ever wanted something and been afraid of it at the same time?"

"Of course. The first time I got to hold Alexis-I was so excited about having her, and so terrified that I was going to screw up her life. I still am. But Kate," he pauses and she can tell that he's thinking about how her name sounds in his voice, how it feels on his tongue, "you have to know that I would never intentionally hurt you."

"When I lost my mother, I had a hard time coping. It's never easy to lose someone you love, but it's even worse when you lose them to murder. You become a victim too. And now I feel like a victim all over again."

"Because of me," he says flatly. "I'm—"

"Don't apologize," she insists. "It's not your fault. But people treat you differently after something like this." She spots her discarded black armband and hands it to him. "The people at the precinct are wearing these."

"That is so cool—" he starts excitedly, until he sees her expression, "—and totally wrong and unnecessary."

"Not to them. You mean something to them, and to a lot of other people." And to one in particular. "We've set a series of events in motion, and we need to see them through. This isn't going to be easy, and I don't think you fully realize what kind of fallout you're facing."

"Did we do the wrong thing?" he asks.

"No, but keeping up this act is going to be difficult for me because I can see myself having to make that call, Castle. Having to tell Martha and Alexis that you're gone, only this time it's for real. You helped me get through my mother's death." She gestures at the bookcases full of his work. "Who's going to help me get through yours?"

He flinches, visibly upset. "I can't promise that I won't die."

"I know," she says gently, "but it's something I want you to keep in mind before putting yourself in harm's way. There's only one promise I want from you."

"What's that?"

"Promise that you will never again apologize for kissing me."

His smile is radiant, and she feels her spirits lift and her fatigue fade away. "I promise."

"Good." She picks up a notepad and a pen. "Then let's get to work."

**End of Chapter 2**


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for taking so long to get this chapter done. I haven't taken quite as much time as usual to edit because I wanted to post this before the weekend, so please excuse any grammatical weirdness. I should have it totally cleaned up fairly soon. Thanks so much for all the kind reviews! They really help keep me motivated.

Usual disclaimers, don't own 'em, never will...

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**Fallout, Chapter 3**

Kate picks up the pen and flexes her hand experimentally. There's no pain, but the sling hampers her movements too much. "Here. You can do the writing." She pushes the notepad toward him.

"Where do you want to start?" he asks.

"Let's start with motive. Who can you think of that might want you dead?"

He frowns, perplexed. "I'm sure I've pissed off any number of people throughout the years, yourself included, but I can't think of a single one who hates me enough to kill me."

"We know that the bomb was planted in your bedroom. By the time I left, CSU was fairly confident that it was actually under your bed, possibly hidden in a shoebox. It's possible that the placement was there for convenience and to keep it out of sight, but it's also possible—"

"That it's symbolic-some type of a crime of passion," he finishes for her. "Well, there's no shortage of ex-lovers, but, aside from my marriages, I've tried to keep things simple and uncomplicated. There weren't any long-term relationships that ended that badly. Actually, there haven't been any long-term relationships at all since Gina."

She's not really surprised. After two failed marriages, it only stands to reason that he'd be cautious. "Okay, let's look at short-term, then."

"How far back do you want to go?" He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together.

She's almost afraid to hear all the sordid details of his love life, but they have to start somewhere. In her experience, sex and jealousy usually provide plenty of ammunition for motive. "Six months."

"Well, I didn't bring anyone home with me recently, if that's what you're asking."

She points to the notepad. "Write that down. But we still can't rule out the possibility that they might have been able to get in some other way, or might have a jealous boyfriend bent on revenge. I need to know about all the women you saw during that time."

"Not including people I went out with professionally, like my agent and publicist, there were..." he pauses for a moment and begins making hash marks on the paper, "...three that I can remember. No, wait, four. I had second dates with two of them and a third date with one."

"And by 'date', you mean...?" She deliberately leaves the question open-ended. While the information isn't vital to the case, she can't help wanting to know.

"Dinner, coffee, movie, museum fundraiser, the usual. No hand margaritas or early morning walks of shame."

His calm blue eyes delve into hers and she quickly drops her gaze to the notepad in an effort to hide her surprise. He threw the "Heat Wave" book reference in there so casually that he seems completely unfazed at admitting that, in spite of his reputation, he's been celibate for at least half a year. She does a few calculations in her head and realizes with a start that it's been even longer for her. No wonder things heated up so quickly between them before. He fiddles restlessly with the pen, and she finds herself staring at his hands and remembering how they tightened on her hips as he pulled her back against him, his mouth busy at her neck.

She clears her throat and drags herself forcibly back to the present. "That's, uh, somewhat less than I expected."

"Keep it to yourself or run the risk of destroying my street cred," he smiles. "I have my reasons. Three of them, if you want to be exact."

"By all means," she says.

"After I split my time between working with you, writing, and spending time with my mother and Alexis, there's not a lot left. "

"That's one."

"There's nothing like visiting crime scenes and having guns pointed at you on a regular basis to make you examine your life in excruciating detail."

"It's an occupational hazard," she says gently. "I take it you didn't like some of what you found?"

"I didn't," he admits. "So many of our vics are young women. I would never harm a woman physically, but there were times when I was..I suppose 'cavalier' isn't too strong a word. I want to be sure that Alexis understands that she deserves better than that. I don't like thinking about her making those choices, but, well, she isn't my little girl any more."

He looks so wistful that she wants to take him into her arms and comfort him, but they've been down that path already, and they can ill afford the distraction. She gives him what she can and hopes it's enough. "Castle, trust me on this. It doesn't matter how old she is or whether she's got a career and family of her own. She will _al__ways_ be your little girl."

"Thanks." He covers her hand with one of his own and runs his thumb lightly against the back of it. "I seem to be surrounded by strong, powerful women. It's no wonder I can't relegate them to the status of objects." He lifts his eyebrows suggestively. "Well, not _just_ objects."

She snorts softly and pulls her hand out of his grasp. "Back to business. What about your exes?"

He writes Gina's name on the pad and then promptly crosses it out. "Gina and I weren't married very long, but I made the mistake of not getting a pre-nup, and she took me to the cleaners. As my publisher, though, she's still profiting from my writing, so I can't imagine her doing something like this."

"And Meredith?"

"Not smart enough or vicious enough to pull this off, even though she did have the opportunity. She came to visit a couple of weeks ago."

Kate feels a brief twinge of jealousy and tamps it down ruthlessly. Maybe he isn't so hard up after all. "You get another craving for Twinkies?"

"Oh, no," he corrects hastily, "I didn't sleep with her this time."

"Really?" She lifts an eyebrow sarcastically.

"Really," he says firmly. "She brought her boyfriend, Dustin."

"Dustin," she repeats. "You mentioned that name earlier when you were talking to Alexis. Tell me about him."

"Dustin? His full name is Dustin Evans. He seems okay. I was surprised to see Meredith with him, though. He's not really her type."

"In what way?"

"He's a director. That part's exactly her type. But he hasn't been very successful so far. He's trying to put together a bankroll for his first film. He let me have a quick look at the script, which wasn't half bad, so I gave him a few thousand bucks." He pauses and touches the third finger on his left hand thoughtfully. "They're even talking about an engagement."

"Do you think it'll really pan out?" she asks.

"The film, or the relationship?"

"Either."

He shrugs. "If it keeps Meredith out of my hair for a few more months, it already has."

"What do you think of him as a suspect?"

"Dustin?" Castle writes the name down neatly on the notepad and circles it thoughtfully. "I wouldn't rule him out, but I don't see a motive. If I die, Meredith actually loses money."

"How so?"

"It was a part of our divorce agreement. She receives a percentage of my book royalties, at least as long as I'm alive."

"That was decent of you."

"She wanted my money." He sighs softly. "I wanted my daughter. I still don't think Meredith ever realized just what she gave up."

"She's lucky, you know," Kate says softly.

"Meredith?" he asks, surprised.

"Alexis."

"Oh, right," he continues, not really understanding her meaning. "Her and my mother both. If they'd been home too..." He shakes his head at the thought.

A sudden inspiration strikes her. "What if it wasn't luck? What if whoever did this purposely waited until Martha and Alexis were gone?"

"If they were concerned about harming other people, though, why use a bomb?" he asks. "It's not exactly a fine-tuned weapon."

He had a point. Still, it sent questions ricocheting through her mind. "What happens to your estate if you die?"

"You'd have to contact my lawyer for the specifics. There are a few charitable contributions. I have a trust set up for my mother, and everything else goes to Alexis."

"Isn't that kind of backwards?"

"You've seen my family."

"True." She can't imagine Alexis being any less than competent in handling her own financial affairs, and Martha was, well...Martha.

He picks up his empty cup and carries it into the kitchen. "Mind if we switch to coffee?" he asks, stifling a yawn.

"I'll get it." She quickly downs the remainder of her own cup and follows him into the kitchen. He hovers as she moves around the kitchen, getting in the way more often than managing to actually be useful. She wouldn't mind so much, but every time they brush up against each other, she feels a physical jolt at the sensation. She finally takes refuge in the corner between the refrigerator and the pantry.

As the smell of the coffee begins to fill the kitchen, he says lightly, "You never asked me about the third reason."

She thinks back to their earlier conversation about the reasons for his newfound appreciation of women. "You're right. Care to elaborate?"

"Actually, I thought it would be obvious to a detective of your caliber." He grins delightedly at her discomfort.

"Well, your mind works in mysterious ways, Castle." She tries to slide around him to find the creamer, but her sling gets snagged on his sweatshirt.

"I got it," he says as he separates them. "I've dreamed of this, you know. Of you and I, together. Written it, even. Moving on would have meant giving up, and I wasn't ready to do that."

They're standing so close to each other. Too close. He smells a little like the hospital—like the antiseptic and bandages Lanie used to patch him up—but when she puts her hand against his chest, he is solid and warm and very much alive when, by all rights, he should have died this morning. Suddenly, any distance between them at all feels like too much.

She slides her hand up to the back of his neck and tangles her fingers in his hair before drawing his head down to hers. He kisses her temple lightly as he slides an arm behind her back and pulls her as close to him as the sling allows. They shouldn't be doing this now, they really, really, shouldn't, but she's drawn in anyway, moth to the flame. She closes her eyes as and the only sound she makes as his mouth finds hers is a soft whimper of resignation.

And then the doorbell rings.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he whispers as he rests his forehead against hers. "The next time we kiss it'll probably be a hail of meteors or Mothra."

"That's probably Ryan and Esposito," she says breathlessly. "Get into my bedroom."

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that," he smirks, "but it's probably just the food."

"Food?" He's lost her.

"Apparently, being blown up gives me the munchies. Who knew? And your refrigerator is a barren wasteland. So I ordered a little something while you took your bath. Here." He shoves his wallet into her hand and winks at her as he walks into her bedroom.

She checks through the spyhole but her view is blocked by what looks like a paper bag covered with drawings of bagels. She opens the door and begins rifling through the wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

A very familiar voice replies, "With tip, forty bucks."

"Esposito?" She looks up, startled. Ryan is standing in the hall behind him holding a large canvas bag of what must be Castle's fan mail. She pulls a couple of twenties from the wallet and hands them to Esposito as she slides the wallet as surreptitiously as she can into the sling.

"We intercepted the delivery guy and saved him a trip up." Javier carries the food to the table and sets it down.

Ryan sets his bag down on one of the empty chairs and picks the notepad up from the table. "Who's this Dustin guy?"

"A name I got from one of Castle's ex-wives," she lies quickly. "Not necessarily a suspect, but maybe a person of interest."

Esposito begins pulling containers from the take-out bag. "A dozen bagels with cream cheese and lox. You got a tapeworm we don't know about?"

"No. Just hungry." She escapes to the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. "You guys want some too?"

They follow her into the kitchen and wave off her offer to pour, fixing the coffee for themselves.

As he stirs in some sugar, Esposito turns to Ryan and asks "Where do you think she's got him stashed, bro? I got twenty on the bedroom."

What? She stands in open-mouthed horror as Ryan replies, "I don't know, man. Bedroom's pretty obvious. I'm gonna have to go with the bathroom."

She never wanted to exclude them to begin with, but the Captain was determined to keep the number of people who knew about Castle as low as possible. She gives in gracefully. "How did you know, guys?"

"Are you kidding me? Two cups in the sink, notes in someone else's handwriting," Ryan explains, "Encyclopedia Brown could have figured this out."

"Maybe a neighbor stopped by, and I could have written those notes with my left hand," she proposes.

"You took that money out of a man's wallet," Esposito adds, tapping the bulge it makes in her sling. "Plus there's more food than you could eat in a week, and oh, yeah, the pièce de résistance..." He lifts a finger to rub the side of his neck and Ryan grins like the Cheshire cat.

"What?" she asks, confused.

Esposito coughs into his hand, only half-heartedly concealing a mumbled, "Hickey."

Ryan grins cheerfully and shouts, "Castle, you might as well come out now. You are _so_ busted."

Ryan doesn't know the half of it.

End of Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, a new chapter! It's a little shorter than previous ones, but I figured something was better than nothing. I originally expected this story to run about four chapters, but I've now determined that it's going to be _much_ longer- eight chapters or more, although they should start coming much more quickly. As always, thanks to all for the kind reviews. Castle does not belong to me.

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 4**

"Don't bother," she tells Ryan. "I'll get him. If you guys want something to eat, go ahead."

She stalks back into her bedroom as she rubs at her neck, wishing away the damning visible evidence of Castle's presence. She doesn't want the other detectives to overhear her conversation with him, but God only knows what they'll think if she shuts the door behind her. Screw it. She shuts it anyway.

"Oh, hey," he says as he rises from his seat at the foot of her bed. "I guess we've got company, but I figured I'd best stay here in case you were still hoping for some measure of plausible deniability."

"Yeah, well, that's not an option any more."

"Why not?" he asks, confusion and innocence written across his features.

She wants to kick him. Just a little, maybe. Just enough to leave a mark to match the one he left on her.

"Because of _this_, Castle." She tilts her head and shows him the side of her neck that Esposito pointed to.

"Oh. Oops, my bad." He winces and then visibly flinches as she approaches him and grabs a fistful of his shirt. "You know—" he stammers, "while I have every confidence that you could kick my ass with one hand tied behind your back—" he glances down at her arm, "—or in a sling, I'd really prefer it if you just let me make it up to you."

The idea has a certain appeal. She wonders what his idea of "making it up" would entail—a romantic dinner, a weekend away, another book dedication? Still, she's not ready to let him off the hook entirely. She releases her grip on his shirt and strokes the front of his chest to smooth the wrinkles out. "Know this, Castle," she says in a quiet, measured tone, "when all this is over, there _will_ be payback."

"I would expect nothing less, detective." He gives her his warm, flirtatious smile—the one that sometimes makes her roll her eyes and shake her head, and other times makes her heart drop to somewhere between her stomach and her knees.

"Good. Then you can help me get out of this," she says as her left hand awkwardly undoes the top button of her blouse.

He reaches out to help by reflex, even as he stumbles over his words. "What? Right now? I mean, aren't the guys waiting in your kitchen?"

"What's the matter, Castle?" she teases. "Have a hard time being quiet?"

"Not particularly," he whispers. "This is just a little unexpected."

"Yeah, well, it's not what you think. Just shut up and hold my elbow steady."

He helps as she eases the sling over her head, taking his wallet back in the process and tucking it securely into his back pocket. He reaches to undo another button on her blouse, but his hands are tentative and unsure of themselves, and he fumbles at the job almost as much as she did. He finally finishes and rests his hands on her shoulders briefly before sliding the material off of her body. She shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the sudden chill of the air against her skin and everything to do with the warmth and weight of Castle's hands on her hips. She can see the effort it costs him to drag his gaze upward from her chest to meet her eyes.

"It's genetic, right?" she asks. "Men can't help wanting to look at breasts?"

"I'm not entirely sure anymore," he rasps before clearing his throat, "but I know I can't help wanting to look at yours." He regains some of his equilibrium and winks at her roguishly.

She clamps down hard on the laugh that tries to bubble its way up her throat and turns it into a small smile instead. All is _not_ forgiven. Not yet, anyway. She turns to her dresser and gets out a red turtleneck. The collar should be high enough to hide the mark on her neck. He helps her ease into it, and nods approvingly at the finished product.

"Ready to rejoin the living?" she asks.

"As ever."

She leads him back into the kitchen, where Ryan and Esposito are happily downing coffee and munching on bagels. They both put down plates and cups and all three men engage in a display of shoulder-punching, back-slapping and handshaking before going back to their late breakfast.

"Man, you should have seen Beckett at the station," Ryan says around a mouthful of bagel and cream cheese. "She totally had us fooled, but when I think back over the statement she gave, she never actually said right out that you were dead."

"Thought I was, for the first few minutes," Castle smiles as he reaches for a plate. "Hey, that's not the last poppyseed, is it?"

Esposito pops the last bite into his mouth and chews blissfully. "You snooze, you lose, bro."

"Oh, man," Castle sulks as he rummages through the deli bag and pulls out a sesame seed-covered bagel and tops it with cream cheese and lox. He takes a big bite, sighs happily, and mumbles, "Never mind. This is even better."

"If you guys wouldn't mind getting back to business-" Beckett takes a box of latex gloves from underneath her sink and pulls on a pair before reaching for the bag of mail. "And Ryan, you owe Esposito twenty bucks. Castle was in my bedroom."

"Yeah, not exactly a shocker," Ryan smiles as he pulls out his wallet. "I'm assuming the captain knows."

She puts down her handful of mail and faces him. "About Castle's supposed death—yes; about what you two discovered this morning—no, and I'd like to keep it that way for now," Kate says carefully.

"We take care of our own." Esposito looks toward Ryan, who nods in agreement. "Far as we're concerned, that means both of you. We'll play this any way that you want."

"I appreciate that." She lets out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. The last thing she wants is to try to explain to the captain the nature of a relationship that she doesn't really understand herself. Not yet, anyway.

"Thank you." Castle's voice is soft and a little surprised, and she suddenly realizes that he's just as grateful for their acceptance of him as part of the team as he is for their discretion.

They all bring their coffee cups to her dining table and glove up before sorting through the stacks of mail. Castle grabs the letter opener and begins slicing open a stack of envelopes for Beckett to read through.

"Oh, here's a nice one," Ryan says. "It's from a Gladys Everett in Sioux Falls who says that you're her favorite author because you look like her grandson."

"Well, it's nice to know my work stands for itself," Castle says wryly.

"Hello, hotness!" Esposito holds up a picture of a pretty young woman in a string bikini. "Apparently Trisha here wants you to come to Miami and have hand margaritas with her. She says she'll supply the tequila."

"Let me see that." Castle reaches for the picture and Kate clears her throat noisily. "What I _meant_ to say," he corrects quickly, "was that you should put that in the trash with the other non-creepy ones."

Beckett pulls her next letter from the envelope and skims through it. It quickly becomes apparent that it doesn't contain any threat at all to Castle, but she reads through it again, more slowly this time. It's from a young woman in Los Angeles whose brother died in a gang-related shooting. After his death, she turned to Castle's books and found comfort in losing herself in his stories. It's a letter that Kate could have written herself, some years ago. She folds it carefully and sets it aside to give to him later.

After an hour's work, all they have to show for their efforts are a huge pile of trash and a stack of photos that'll probably be enough to fuel Esposito's fantasies for weeks. Kate opens another enveloped resignedly and begins reading through the letter. Castle suddenly stiffens in his seat next to her.

"Oh, my God," he says softly. "Oh, no. No, no, no."

He throws the letter to the table, jumps to his feet, and races into her bedroom.

"Hey, what gives, man?" Ryan shouts as he and Esposito follow Castle out.

Kate picks up the letter with trembling fingers and looks at the crudely drawn picture of two beds. Underneath each of them is a small box. One of the headboards is labeled "Castle", and the other is labeled "Beckett". There's a single word underneath the picture: "BOOM". She draws in a shaky breath and gets to her feet.

"Kate?" Castle yells from the other room. "There's a shoebox under your bed."

It's not hers, and suddenly there's no time to spare. It could be rigged to go up at any second. She grabs her badge and her service piece and stuffs them into her purse as Castle, Ryan, and Esposito come pouring back into the room.

"Ryan, take Castle down the back stairs and make sure he isn't seen. Call Lanie. She'll give you directions to the safe house. Get Castle there, and for God's sake _keep_ him there. Esposito, you're with me. We need to have the building evacuated and get the bomb squad guys in here." She pulls out her phone and starts dialing as she throws open the door and steps out into the hallway.

"Kate?" Castle puts a hand on her arm. "Be careful. Please?"

His eyes plead with her, and she takes a few precious seconds to pull his head down to hers. She kisses him hard, crushing her mouth against his, knowing and not caring that they're not alone. When she lets him go, she ruffles his hair before whispering, "Hood, sunglasses, listen to Ryan. I'll see you as soon as I can."

Ryan hustles him down the hall and Kate waits until they disappear before knocking on her neighbor's door.

End of Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

As always, the characters aren't mine. Sorry to keep you waiting so long for this chapter! Thanks to everyone who's still reading, reviewing, etc. I appreciate you all!

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 5**

Five minutes after Ryan leaves with Castle, her floor is clear and backup is just starting to arrive. Ten minutes after that, the entire building has been cleared out and the bomb squad is just pulling up to the building. She singles out Dominic Price, the same officer that helped with the investigation at Castle's place.

"We've got another one, Dom. It's in my apartment this time. Looks like the same M.O., shoebox under the bed."

"You leave your apartment door unlocked?"

He looks relieved at her nod. "Good. Then here's the approach I want to take," he says as he pulls open the back of his truck. "We've got a camera-guided remotely-controlled robot. I'll take it inside and put it in the elevator and set it to go to your floor, and then I want you in here with me to help me guide it into your place."

She follows him into the back of the truck and watches as he uncrates a squat contraption with heavy wheels, thin, extendable arms, and a forward-facing camera. He and one of his partners carry it into the building and reappear a couple of minutes later.

"Okay, here we go." He gives her a hand up into the van and seats her in front of a console covered with monitors and various other types of electronic equipment. On one of the monitors is a clear display of the inside of the doors of the elevator. Price picks up a black box with a long antenna that she assumes is the robot's remote control. He adjusts a few knobs and the display on the monitor changes as he moves the camera around. There's a soft "ping" as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open on her floor. The robot trundles forward.

"It's the eighth door on the left," she tells him.

"Got it," he replies, guiding the machine into her apartment. "This the right place?"

The camera pans around the room slowly and she takes a silent inventory of all the things she stands to lose if the bomb goes off. She doesn't have too many personal items-a few photos that her father probably has copies of, a handful of mementoes from Russia. And then the camera focuses on her bookshelves. The loss of her books would be painful. She knows Castle would replace them—even the first editions—but it wouldn't be the same.

She still remembers exactly where and when she bought each of them. She remembers that she was reading "Death of a Prom Queen" in Central Park on a warm summer day and that her ice cream melted faster than she could eat it and ended up dripping on one of the pages. She read "Storm Season" in the bathtub, got a little careless, and dipped one of the corners into the warm water, rippling the pages permanently. Each book she bought, each story she read, represents another step on the path toward coming to terms with her mother's death. There is a history in those books that she can never get back, and she spends a few seconds steeling herself against their loss before guiding Dominic through her living room and into the bedroom.

"The bedroom is through that doorway, and the bed is on the left."

They both watch the monitor intently as the robot rolls toward the side of her bed before coming to a stop.

"Let me just turn the flashlight on," he says, flicking a switch. The image on the screen immediately lights up and he guides the robot slowly past the bedskirt. "There." He points to a section of the screen that clearly reveals the corner of a box. He rotates the robot just a little, and gradually, the entire box comes into view. There's nothing remarkable about the box itself; it's tan in color with the words "New Balance" printed on it and the size label on the side indicates that it once contained men's shoes in size 12.

"Now what?" she asks.

"Now we give it a little nudge," he says, "and see how sensitive it is." He guides one of the robot's arms to act as a prod and reaches toward the box as she holds her breath. The arm makes contact, but there is no sign of a response. "Good," he exhales. "Let's pull it out and see what happens." He guides the robotic arms to either side of the box and they grip the box securely as he reverses the robot until the box clears the edge of the bed.

"You ready to lift the lid?" he asks. "See what we've got inside?"

"Yeah." Kate nervously fingers the chain that hangs around her neck and holds her mother's ring. It's the one thing that she couldn't have replaced and she's grateful that she didn't leave it behind.

The robot's arm catches the edge of the lid and gently lifts it until the lid falls back and the top of the box lies open. He tilts the camera's view until it faces downward into the box.

She doesn't know much about bombs, or even electronics in general, but she doesn't need to in order to be able to instantly identify the contents. The box is empty except for a sheet of paper bearing a smiley face and three handwritten words, all in caps:

MADE YOU LOOK

While Dominic and his team take their bomb-sniffing dogs into the building, just in case there are real explosives planted elsewhere, she finds Esposito, who's taking a statement from her building's super. As she approaches, the detective turns away from the man and closes his notebook.

"Let me guess," she says, "he didn't see anything or anyone suspicious."

"Right the first time. We're getting a warrant to pull the surveillance tapes, but they only record for a three day loop before they start erasing material."

"Just be careful about who sees those," she advises, looking around at all the police and annoyed residents milling around on the street. "You never know who might turn up on the video."

"I get where you're coming from. And I already called Ryan and Dr. Parish and filled them in. What now?"

"Since I'm now a possible target as well, we need to start looking at a bigger picture. I need you to get in touch with the local police department where Castle's ex lives to set up police protection for his mother and Alexis."

He writes in his notebook for a moment. "What else?"

"My car is still parked in the garage at Castle's place. We probably should have the bomb squad check it out too, just in case, and then I'll need it brought over to the precinct."

"You're not expecting to drive, are you?" he asks. He taps her sling. "Not with a busted wing?"

"Not 'busted', sprained," she explains. "Although, if it'll make you feel better, I'll let you drive me over to the safe house tonight."

"What else do you have going on between now and then?"

"I need to start going through old case files, see if anyone that Castle and I helped put away is out on parole or on a technicality. Then we need to check into their families, see if anyone has any demolition or military experience that might have involved explosives."

"Okay. Let's get started."

They spend the next several hours searching through records, making phone calls, and starting background checks. She picks up her desk phone for the umpteenth time, and the Captain gently takes it from her hand.

"Enough," he says firmly. "Get Esposito to take you home."

At her cocked eyebrow, he corrects himself. "Sorry. Wherever you plan on sleeping tonight. You have a place to stay?"

"I do," she says, looking around her surreptitiously. No one is close enough to hear her words, even on the off chance they would understand them. "He needs someone to keep an eye on him anyway."

"I don't like it," he argues. "What if there's another attempt? Can you protect him in your condition?"

"If whoever did this wanted me dead, I'd be dead already," she says, "and as far as they know, he already is. So whatever game this guy is playing, I don't think I have anything to worry about right now."

He gives in gracefully. "Okay, but I'll be sending cars out to keep an eye on the area for however long it takes to get this resolved."

"Thank you, sir," she says as he motions to Esposito.

She gathers her things and lets Javier walk her out to her car, which checked out clean. It's fully dark outside by the time Esposito pulls up in front of the safe house.

She knocks softly on the door. "Ryan, it's me."

He opens the door and slides the safety back on his gun before holstering it. "You got anything new?"

She steps inside and closes the door behind her, surprised that Castle isn't there to meet her.

Ryan notices the way she scans the room. "He's in the bedroom. Finally passed out about an hour ago. Wore himself out, probably. He paced and fidgeted constantly until we got word earlier from Esposito about what you found. Or, I guess it's more like what you _didn't_ find."

"There's a whole lot that we haven't found at this point, Ryan. Like leads, suspects, or evidence."

"What about the notes?" he asks. "The letter that Castle found and the note in the box?"

"CSU's still working on trying to get prints off the paper. They'll go to handwriting analysis after that, but we still don't have any kind of a break yet."

"So what do you need me to do next?"

"Esposito drove my car over here. He's waiting for you to give him a ride back to the station. We spent the afternoon going through old case files and looking for connections, but there's still a long way to go."

"Okay." He grabs his coat. "Sure you're going to be okay here by yourself?"

"I'll be fine," she assures him. At least, as fine as anyone can be considering what she's experienced over the last 24 hours.

As soon as Kate locks the door behind him, she heads toward the bedroom at the back of the apartment. She's protecting Castle, so it's her duty to check on him, right? It's not as though she _needs_ to see him, to confirm with her own eyes that he's still here and still safe. She opens the door, just a crack, and lets herself drink in the sight of him.

He's sleeping on his stomach, facing toward her with one arm pillowed under his head. His hair is rumpled and he looks totally disheveled, and his mouth and jaw are relaxed in deep slumber. She wants nothing more at this moment than to wake him with a kiss and to feel that slack expression come alive under her lips. Kate wonders briefly just how it came to be that she feels so much for him in so short a time, but, if she's honest with herself, the feelings have probably been there for a lot longer than she realized.

She tiptoes away from the bedroom and back to the kitchen and pulls out her cell phone.

"Hey, Lanie, it's me. I'm staying at the safe house with Castle, and I need you to bring me the overnight bag I have stashed at your place."

"No problem," her friend says. "I'm guessing they're not letting you back into your apartment for a while?"

"CSU's still looking for prints and fibers."

"Any new developments?"

Kate takes a deep breath. She's not really ready to talk about it, but if Lanie ever finds out that Ryan and Esposito were the first to know, she'll never hear the end of it. "You could say that, although it's not related to the case. Castle and I...well, it's not strictly professional any more."

"Was it ever?" the ME laughs. "Dish, girl. Did you really spend all that time at his place last night looking at crime scene photos? Because I could give you a hundred ideas for-"

"It's still very new," Kate interrupts. "I guess you could say we're still feeling each other out."

"I've seen the way he looks at you. Hell, I've seen the way you look at _him_ when you think nobody's looking at _you. _I'm guessing it's more like feeling each other _up_."

Kate remembers how she and Castle were together at her place. How she was in his arms, topless, with his teeth at her neck and his hands gliding up her ribcage, warm fingertips grazing the sides of her breasts. It's her memory, and she refuses to share it, but her silence only encourages Lanie further.

"Sounds like I hit pretty close to the mark, didn't I?"

"It's not like that," Beckett argues weakly, knowing that she sounds completely unconvincing. "Not yet, anyway."

"He should have died, Kate," Lanie says softly. "God only knows why he didn't. Take all the time you need, but don't let yourself forget that you may not have as much of it as you think you do."

"I'll keep it in mind," Kate says. Just then, her stomach rumbles alarmingly and she chooses to change the subject. "Any chance you could bring something to eat too?"

"Pizza or Chinese?"

"Chinese, please. And Lanie? Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Beckett takes her weapon from her bag and sets it on a table near the door, just in case. She kicks off her shoes and gingerly works her way out of the sling. She keeps ibuprofen in her desk and took a couple (okay, maybe three) earlier, so the stiffness isn't too bad right now. She decides to look back in on Castle. He's only taking up one half of the queen-sized bed, and the other half is practically begging her to lie down for a few minutes while she waits for Lanie.

The bedsprings squeak just a little as she settles her weight on the bed and stretches luxuriously. She relaxes and closes her eyes, and opens them again abruptly as a strong, masculine arm wraps around her midsection and pulls her gently toward its owner.

"Mmmm," he breathes softly, "that's what keeps me coming back here—the amenities. Most places you just get a mint on your pillow. Sometimes a cookie, if you're lucky. But here, you get a smart, sexy detective. Remind me to call the management to book my next stay."

"You're babbling, Castle," she says as he snuggles against her back.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Good thing you find that attractive."

"Oh, really?" she says sarcastically.

"If you didn't, would you still be here?"

"I haven't slept in..." her mind is too fuzzy to even begin calculating the hours, "...a very long time. Any port in a storm, Castle."

"_Any_ port?' he asks, mock hurt tinting his voice.

She relents as her eyes slowly drift shut. "Well, there may be _one_ I'm particularly fond of."

"Any chance I can get that in writing?"

"I thought _you_ were the writer," she mumbles as the world begins to go gray around her.

He chuckles softly, the gray turns to black, and then there's nothing but the comfort of a deep, exhausted sleep.

She wakes abruptly, completely disoriented, and looks at her watch as she gets her bearings. She's only slept for about an hour, but she feels refreshed. Castle is gone, but she smells something savory and, suddenly ravenous, gets to her feet to follow the aroma.

Lanie must have come while she was asleep. Castle is taking colorful boxes out of a bag and checking their contents before setting them on the table.

He smiles as she walks in. "You look better."

"I feel better."

Kate finds a couple of plates in the kitchen cabinets and carries them to the table.

Castle peers intently into the last take-out container. "What exactly did you tell Lanie?" He lifts his head and looks at her with bright blue eyes that are merry with mischief.

"That I needed my bag and that we could use something to eat. Why?"

"Well, she brought your bag and the food. This was in between the orange chicken and the string bean pork. I was hoping for wontons."

He hands her the small white paper bag. She takes it from him and looks inside. It's a box of condoms. A box of _a dozen_ condoms. Oh, hell.

**End of Chapter 5**


	6. Chapter 6

Yes, it's been forever since I posted a new chapter. And yes, I know I promised quicker updates. I am truly a bad, bad, author. I'm still very much invested in the story, but the time to do anything with it has been in short supply. Thanks go out to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, and poking me gently (and some not so gently) for an update, and especially to ignacio2012 whom I would personally like to blame, I mean, _thank,_ for motivating me to get this chapter out.

As always, ABC's characters and not mine.

_minor grammatical edits 4/15_

_

* * *

_

_A dozen condoms in all colors of the rainbow._

Oh, she is so going to kill Lanie for this. A little warning would have been nice. Even sticking the condoms in her overnight bag would have been acceptable, but putting them in the one place that _Castle_ was sure to find them? Now what?

She knows that disavowing all knowledge and trying to defend herself will only make matters worse, so she smiles at him as she hands the bag back. "Wow, you're right. They're _not_ wontons. Your deductive powers continue to amaze me."

Not an admission, but not a denial, either. Let him chew on _that_ for a few minutes. She moves back toward the table and looks for a pair of chopsticks.

"So, you didn't ask Lanie to bring these then?"

"I didn't say that," she replies with her back still turned toward him.

He sounds confused. "Then you _did_ tell her something about us."

She finds the chopsticks, tears the paper off of them, and snaps them apart. "Didn't say that either."

He grunts softly and says under his breath, "Nikki Heat wouldn't be this equivocal."

By this point in the investigation, Nikki would probably have a handful of solid leads and a suspect in the interrogation room. Kate has a shoebox, two creepy notes, and a ton of fingerprint, fiber, and residue analysis to wade through. The last thing she wants is to be compared to Nikki Heat. She turns back around and points the chopsticks at him accusingly. "Ask me a direct question and I'll answer it," she snaps.

"Do you love me?"

The chopsticks fall from her suddenly numb fingers and skitter across the floor.

He looks surprised at his own audacity. He also looks vulnerable and tired, and somehow diminished from his usual ebullient self. He seemed to be so positive, so in control of himself earlier, and she's somehow forgotten that he's still adjusting to the fact that someone tried to kill him and very nearly succeeded.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. He tosses the bag onto the coffee table as though trying to distance himself from it. "That wasn't fair. Forget I asked."

She wishes she _could_ forget. It's a question she decided a while ago that she'd be better off never, ever thinking about, because she's not sure what the answer might do to her.

She bends over to pick up the chopsticks, a job made more difficult by the fact that one of them has rolled under the table. When she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, she sees the corners of his lips lift a little as he appreciates the view. Well, it's nice to know that _some_ things don't change. Then his eyes move to hers and he realizes that she's caught him looking. He manages to look guilty and gratified at the same time-a little kid caught not with his hand in the cookie jar, but with crumbs all over his shirt.

She laughs in spite of herself and leaves the errant chopstick where it is as she straightens up and walks toward him. She drapes her arms around his neck-both arms this time, and damn the pain-and hugs him tightly. He hesitates for just a fraction of a second before wrapping his strong arms around her back. And then, just like that, they're okay again.

He plants a soft kiss on her cheek without releasing his hold on her one bit. "Am I to assume that I'm forgiven?"

"You know what happens when you assume things, Castle."

"Well," he rumbles softly. "I'm used to _being_ an ass, and I certainly could get used to _seeing_ yours."

"One out of two's not bad," she teases playfully.

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations throughout her entire body. Her nerves thrum in response and she relaxes even more into his embrace, leaning on him and letting him support her, just like he always has. She's so tired, physically and emotionally spent, and he's so solid, so warm. She decides then and there that if he wants to be with her tonight, if he needs her as much she thinks he does, she'll use Lanie's gift and be grateful for it.

"Come on," he says regretfully as he drops his hands to her waist. "Food's getting cold."

"There's a microwave," she murmurs as she moves a hand to cup his face. She runs her thumb across his cheek gently, enjoying the rasp of the stubble against her skin.

"That there is," he smiles as he takes her hand gently in his and brushes a kiss across her scraped knuckles. His blue eyes scrutinize her for a second, and she's not exactly sure what he's looking for, but he seems to find it as his eyes flutter shut and he leans forward to claim her mouth. His kiss is different this time, slow, deliberate, tasting, testing.

He takes her lower lip gently between his teeth, nips it lightly, and then soothes the pinch away with a quick flick of his tongue. She moans in spite of herself, runs the tip of her tongue across his, and is rewarded with a low, answering growl from him.

He pulls away from her slightly. "I'm not sure I've ever had a woman growl at me before," he chuckles.

"Me?" she argues. "That was _you_."

His midsection emits another loud grumble and he looks down at it in disgust. "You're right," he says dejectedly. "That was me all right."

Her stomach twists abruptly and another low rumble resonates through the room.

"But _that_ wasn't," he laughs. "Well, if nothing else, it looks like our bodies are definitely in sync." He holds his elbow out invitingly. "Will you join me for dinner?"

"I'd love to." She takes his arm for the three steps it takes to get to the table.

She fills plates for them while he fixes them drinks. She's not that great with chopsticks to begin with and quickly realizes that she's totally helpless with them left-handed, so she rummages through the kitchen and finds a fork.

In spite of their hunger, they eat slowly. They steal glances at each other over the orange chicken and he steals the green beans right off of her plate. When she tries to stab at him with her fork, he lifts a tender piece of broccoli with his chopsticks and holds it a few inches from her mouth. She takes it with just the barest hesitation and he has the decency to not look too gratified as she licks the sauce from her lips.

When they're done, he cleans up quickly and efficiently and puts the leftovers away. She sinks into the couch in the living room gratefully and puts her feet up on the coffee table. Castle plops down on the couch next to her and presses a fortune cookie into her hand. He rips the wrapper off of his own before breaking the cookie in half. He pulls the fortune out, scans it quickly, and grins broadly before closing his palm back around the slip of paper.

"You know how to read fortunes, right?"

"The ability to read _is_ one of the requirements for acceptance into the police academy," she says dryly.

"No, not how to read—how to read _fortune cookies. _Basically, you just add the words 'in bed' to the end of every fortune."

"You teach that to Alexis?" she asks as she breaks open her cookie.

"Bite your tongue. I told her to add the words 'in school'."

"She'll get wise to that one of these days."

"Don't I know it," he says ruefully, "and if I'm a very lucky man, she won't tell me when she does."

She pulls the paper slip from the cookie and sets it on the table in front of her as she nibbles delicately at the treat.

"Come on, come on," he bounces impatiently.

"Relax, Castle. I always eat the whole cookie before I read the fortune."

He grabs for her fortune, but she swats his hand away and gives him her best perp staredown.

"Fine." He sits back down and drums his fingertips across his thigh.

She takes tiny bites, deliberately making him wait until she finally licks the last crumb from her fingers. She finally unravels the slip of paper and reads it, barely believing the words that are printed on it. If it wasn't impossible, she would think that he somehow managed to plant it.

_You are extraordinary._

She hands it over to him wordlessly and takes his in exchange.

_Now is the time to try something new._

They both look up at each other and add the unspoken words silently —_ in bed._

"I think it's time we talked," he says softly.

"Talked about what, Castle?" she asks, her mouth suddenly dry.

"The elephant in the room." He looks meaningfully at the white paper bag on the coffee table.

"Now is the time to try something new?" she quips, only half-joking.

"It could be," he says huskily. "Trust me, Kate. Give me a chance to put a smile on that beautiful face."

It's taken them forever to get to this point, and, if it still feels like too soon to her, well, it's better than too late. She remembers Lanie's words. _You may not have as much time as you think you do._

She nods her head slowly. "Okay."

He mouth widens into a huge grin. "Close your eyes."

She does. "I wouldn't have pegged you as modest, what with the whole Lady Godiva impersonation."

"I just want to make sure you get the full effect. No peeking, now." She feels the breath of his whisper fan across her cheek just before he brushes his lips in a delicate kiss over first one eyelid, and then the other.

She hears the soft rustling of paper, a low ripping sound, and then...squeaking? After thirty seconds or so, just when the wait is beginning to be too much and she's just about to give into the temptation to peek, he says gently, "You can open your eyes now."

He's still fully clothed and, for a fraction of a second, she's not entirely sure whether she's disappointed or relieved. His hands are cradling a small balloon—no, _condom_—animal. It's a blue teddy bear complete with ears, nose, and a stub of a tail. A professional couldn't have improved on it by much. She takes it from him and admires it from all sides.

"Alexis wanted a clown for her fifth birthday," he explains. "Not just someone to visit during a party, but a real live-in clown that would be available 24/7 for all her entertainment needs."

"So you stepped up," she says wonderingly. She shouldn't be surprised. She's known for a long time that Castle would do anything for Alexis.

"What else could I do? At least she let me pass on the makeup and funny shoes. Besides, I was really popular at her friends' birthday parties for the next few years. And some of the moms were single." He winks at her as he takes another condom, a green one this time, from the box and rips it open. He inflates it quickly, ties the end off and bounces it gently in his upturned palms. "I got bored one day and figured out that condoms work almost as well as real balloons. What do you think? Swan or squirrel?"

"Swan." She watches intently as his hands fold and twist and shape his creation. The next ten minutes pass in a blur, and by the time he's done, there's a swan _and_ a squirrel, as well as a mouse, a poodle, and a half-dozen other creatures.

"These are amazing, Castle," she says, standing the poodle up on its delicate feet on top of the coffee table.

"It's actually not that different from writing. The hands are just an outlet for the imagination, you know." He picks up the box of condoms, upends it in his palm, and the last condom slides into his hand. "I can do a rabbit and I think I might be able to manage a turtle—"

The choice is easy. She closes her hand around his and folds his fingers gently around the unopened packet. She doesn't say anything, and, for once, neither does he, but the promise is still made, still understood. _Not yet, not now, but soon..._

He clears his throat and tucks the condom back into the box before getting to his feet and stretching his shoulders out. "I think we should probably think about getting some rest, don't you?"

It's still early, but he's probably right. With luck, they should get some lab results tomorrow that might provide a few leads.

"You can have the bathroom first." His brow furrows for a moment. "Never mind. You can have the bathroom, period. I don't even have a toothbrush and I'm currently going commando, so I guess I'm already wearing my pajamas. Tell Lanie for me that her priorities are kind of screwed up." He walks toward the bedroom.

He's going commando? She probably didn't really need to know that, but now that's she does, she can't resist looking at the way his jeans hug his backside. He glances back at her and grins, and now she's the one who's busted. She doesn't mind. Some things are worth getting caught for.

She reaches for her bag, and he returns promptly with a pillow and a blanket tucked underneath his arm. He throws the pillow onto the couch and flops down on it gratefully.

"Good night, Castle." She leans over and kisses the top of his head.

"Until tomorrow, detective."

It takes her only a few minutes to get ready for bed. She slides wearily under the covers. The bed that seemed soft and comfortable while Castle was in it feels sterile and barren without him. She pushes her head more determinedly into the pillow and resists the urge to smooth her hands across the empty expanse of fabric beside her.

_The hands are just an outlet for the imagination._

She wonders just what else his hands might be good at. She lies on the bed for a good long time, thinking about the case and thinking about him, while sleep dances just outside of her reach. Eventually, she hears the television turn on in the living room. Apparently, he's having the same problems that she is. She gets out of bed and walks into the living room.

"I'm sorry," he says as she approaches. "I didn't mean to wake you. I couldn't sleep."

"It's okay. I couldn't either."

She makes her way over to the couch and looks at him meaningfully, expecting him to drop his legs to the floor to make room for her. Instead, he moves his body as far to the back of the couch as he can, leaving just enough room for her to lie down in front of him. It's a tight fit, but it's nice to feel his solid warmth behind her, and he's taken off his shirt, which makes it that much nicer. He's watching the evening news, which is, not surprisingly, airing a story about him.

_Since his tragic death earlier today, fans have come to pay tribute to the fallen author. Six of his titles are currently listed on Amazon's roster of its top ten best-selling novels. _

"Sounds like you're going to be coming into a substantial amount of money soon."

"I'll probably need it to pay my insurance premiums next year. I'm expecting them to go through the roof."

She winces at the pun.

"You know how people hang around at the scene of crimes they commit? I thought I'd watch the footage of people on the street, just to see if I recognized anyone."

"That was good thinking. See anyone you know?"

He picks up the remote and reverses to the beginning of the segment. "The lady in the red coat."

Kate is able to pick her out easily in the crowd. "She looks like she's about eighty, Castle. Do you really think she's a suspect?"

"No," he says as the video footage shows the woman bending over with difficulty to place a bouquet of sunflowers on top of the already-crowded steps in front of Castle's building. "She always had me autograph her books to 'Lady Chatterly', and she's been to every book signing I've had in the city in the last ten years. At the 'Heat Wave' signing, she told me that Nikki didn't seem right as a tequila drinker and I should have had her drinking vodka instead."

He presses a button and the footage slows to a crawl. He pauses it and says, "See the woman on the left, there? She has her kids with her."

Kate sees her. She's carrying a bouquet too—lilies, by the look of it.

"Met her at a 'Heat Wave' signing too. Her husband ran out on her and the kids and she said that reading my books seemed to help her pass the time without him."

He starts the video up again. "There are others I recognize—too many to point out, but no one that I would think of as dangerous in any way. I didn't understand at first, but you were right, you know."

"About what?"

"About the fallout. There are a lot of people who are just gawkers, but some of those people are in pain right now, and they're hurting because of me."

"You helped heal a lot of those people too," she argues. She wishes she could give him the fan letter she read earlier, but it's at her apartment with the rest of the mail. She rests her head on his chest and feels the reassuring steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek. The balloon bear is blocking her view of the screen. She reaches out a hand to bat it out of the way and overbalances dangerously. Just as she begins to fall toward the floor, Castle reaches an arm out, wraps it protectively around her waist and gently pulls her back to lie against his chest.

"This was a bad idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes." The word leaves her mouth before she can stop it, and it's hours too late and maybe a lifetime too early, but she can't bring herself to regret it now.

He snorts softly. "Well, thanks for not arguing with me."

She's not facing him, and that helps the words come a little easier. "It wasn't a bad idea, Castle. You, me, the captain, the mayor, we all agreed on that. You asked me a different question earlier. That's the answer."

He goes stock-still for a few seconds, and then his arms tighten around her and he buries his face in her hair as he whispers, "I love you too."

_End of Chapter 6_


	7. Chapter 7

As always, the characters belong to ABC. Thanks go to all those who are still sticking with the story.

Those familiar with _Firefly_ will recognize a few words of dialogue. I just couldn't resist.

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 7**

_I love you too._

_I love you too...love you too...love you..._

The words echo softly in her head, caroming off of what's left of the walls she erected around herself so long ago—a defense mechanism that has long outlived its usefulness. Somehow, Castle found a way through those walls, or around them, or between them, and she has to continually remind herself that vulnerability is not the same as weakness. He loves her, and, if she's honest with herself, she's known it for a long time, but knowledge and acceptance are two entirely different things.

She takes the remote control from him and mutes the set before setting the remote back on the coffee table. "Why does someone want to kill us, Castle?"

"I suppose we'll figure that out soon enough, but they won't succeed."

The sudden change in his mood from pensive to almost giddy makes her head spin for a moment. She's feeling more than a little giddy herself, so she rises to his bait. "What makes you so sure?"

"The story can't end this way," he says simply. "There's too much to live for. The hero and heroine just declared their undying love for each other—"

"I didn't hear the word 'undying' anywhere in there, Castle."

"It was implied. Anyway, I don't write tragedies, so I refuse to participate in one."

"What about Derrick Storm?"

"Not a tragedy. That was more like a mercy killing. I was forced to put him out of my misery, and if I hadn't, well, we wouldn't be here, now would we?"

"No, we wouldn't," she agrees.

"Besides, there's another reason we're going to make it through this."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," she says warily.

"Because we are so...," he lays the palm of his hand against her shoulder and glides it all the way down her arm before enveloping her hand in his own, "very...," he nuzzles her neck lightly, "pretty." His lips find the sensitive spot just behind her ear, and she feels it all the way down to her toes. "We're much too pretty to die."

She lets herself laugh, more than a little surprised at how good, how natural it feels. "I thought the look you were going for was 'ruggedly handsome'."

"Are you implying that I'm _not_ pretty, detective?" he rumbles softly.

"I'll have to reserve judgment until I can examine _all_ of the evidence," she teases.

"In that case, I'll just have to hope that you perform a thorough investigation," he says suggestively.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be exhaustive."

He needs the bravado and the innuendo; hell, they both do. Homicide is normally an incredibly demanding occupation, even when you're not on the receiving end of an attempt at it. After years of therapy and soul-searching, she finally found a sense of balance, and then Castle came into her life and effortlessly threw off her carefully crafted equilibrium. But he brought her something she hadn't known in years and hadn't even realized that she was missing—joy.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" he chuckles.

She twists awkwardly in his embrace, tweaking her shoulder and almost falling off of the couch again before managing to turn herself toward him. "Tell me again." His touch is rapidly changing from comforting to...something else.

She needs to hear the words and she needs to see his face while he says them. The only illumination in the room comes from the television, and its fragile, shifting ghostlight makes Castle look almost ethereal. He could never be merely pretty, not to her. But he can be beautiful, and he still is, even now. Maybe especially now.

A satisfied smile lifts the corners of his mouth, but his eyes are serious as he says, "I love you." He kisses her—a fleeting touch that only leaves her wanting more. "Now go back to bed."

"You're not enjoying my company?" She presses her free hand against his chest and splays her fingers across the firm muscles.

"On the contrary. I'm enjoying it immensely. But if you don't leave, I'm going to be—" he clears his throat delicately, "_up_ all night. Plus that shoulder's going to be sore as hell come morning."

Much as she hates to admit it, he's right. She gives him one last, chaste kiss before slowly levering herself upright and getting to her feet. She walks back to the bedroom, slides beneath the covers, and sighs softly as she touches the empty expanse of sheet one last time. And then she sleeps.

She comes back to consciousness slowly, just as the sky outside is beginning to lighten. A quick, reflexive reach for her phone reminds her that it's been a while since she took anything for the pain in her shoulder. She checks her e-mail and sees that Ryan's left her a message asking her to call when she can.

"What have you got?" she asks as soon as he answers his phone.

"Nothing much," he says. "We've ruled out a lot of people and the forensic evidence hasn't given us anything new yet. We'll be by in a while to show you what we have so far."

She swings her legs out of bed and looks through her bag for something to wear. "Is there any chance you can bring Castle some clothes?"

"No problem. Give us an hour."

"Thanks."

Beckett gathers her things together and checks on Castle. He's still out cold, sprawled bonelessly across the couch. For a brief, sickening moment, she flashes back to the way she found him in his apartment, seemingly dead in a pool of his own blood. But his chest is rising and falling with predictable regularity and he mumbles something unintelligible as he burrows further into his pillow. She leaves him in peace and walks quietly to the bathroom.

The water pressure in the shower is better than what she's used to and she takes a few extra minutes to allow the heat to seep into her sore muscles. By the time she's dry and dressed, she feels almost human again.

Castle is awake and waiting for her. He's taken his bedding back to the bedroom and cleared the living room of last night's animal menagerie.

"Good morning," he yawns as he runs a hand through his hair.

"That remains to be seen." She smoothes a palm across his stubbly cheek. "The guys are coming by in a little while. Ryan said he'd bring you some clothes."

"You're kidding, right?" He looks horrified. "Why didn't you send Lanie instead?"

"Are you forgetting about the 'misplaced priorities' you were complaining about last night?"

He sighs and shrugs. "Hey, it's your call, but ten bucks says they bring me something pink."

"Man up, Castle. You could always go commando again."

He arches his eyebrows and smiles smugly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Maybe she would, but he won't catch her admitting it any time soon. Fortunately, she's saved by a knock at the door. She quickly confirms that it's Ryan and Esposito and opens the door for them.

Ryan's juggling a box of doughnuts and a drink carrier full of coffee cups, and Kate immediately lightens his load by grabbing a cup gratefully. Esposito has a handful of files and a bag from a clothing store, which he gives to Castle.

Castle looks warily into the bag before reaching in to pull out a pair of blue jeans. "So far, so good." Plain white socks and a heather gray t-shirt quickly follow and he finally pulls out the last item: a folded pair of navy boxers. "Not bad at all. Thanks, guys," he smiles. He unfolds the shorts only to find that the seat is covered in white block letters: Property of NYPD.

Esposito claps a hand to Castle's shoulder and steals a quick glance at Kate. "We figured she's probably the possessive type."

Castle eyes her accusingly. Kate hides her smile with a quick sip of coffee and immediate regrets it as the still-too-hot beverage burns her tongue. She sucks in a quick, cooling breath and says, "Tell me what you've got."

Esposito opens his file. "So far, no usable prints on the letters or the shoebox. CSU is still processing prints from the scenes, but there's nothing interesting yet. Handwriting analysis shows the notes were written on the same paper and most likely written by the same person. We've gone through the last six months worth of caseloads, and no one that might have a grudge against either of you has been paroled or has a family member that might do their dirty work for them."

"We ran a background check on Castle's ex-wife's new boyfriend, Dustin Evans, a.k.a. Donald Eckersly. He actually grew up in New York, and changed his name before he enrolled in film school in California. He's got a DUI and an arrest for drunk-and-disorderly on his record, but those are almost ten years old now. No serious priors and no suspicious financials."

"So we're still not much better off than we were when we started." She pulls her fingers roughly through her hair as she tries in vain to think of something they might have missed.

"We did run across something weird though," Ryan says around a mouthful of chocolate-glazed pastry. "Apparently, there was a theft of some explosive materials from a company called CTR Construction a couple of months ago. The Department of Homeland Security has been looking into it, but they haven't made much headway. Bomb squad says that preliminary analysis of the residues from Castle's place matches the type of the material stolen."

She turns toward Castle. "CTR Construction. That name ring a bell?"

His brow furrows as he concentrates for a moment. "I want to say 'yes', but I don't know why. I'm sure I've heard of them recently, but I can't figure out the right context..."

His eyes suddenly alight on the television remote still sitting atop the coffee table. He lunges for it, turns on the set, and plays back the recorded news from last night.

"CTR, CTR," he murmurs as he stations himself in front of the set. "I know I saw it somewhere." He pauses the image and points at the screen. "Right there. Tall guy, blue jacket with the yellow logo on the back. Look at the letters beneath the logo."

"CTR. I'll be damned," Esposito says. "That was a good catch, bro."

The man in the jacket has his back to the camera. He's standing at the periphery of the crowd, and, like everyone else, he's craning his head upward to look at the shattered windows of Castle's place.

"Come on, come on," Ryan mutters impatiently. "Turn around and smile for the camera."

Almost as though he heard Kevin's prompting, the man turns around and they're able to see his face.

Castle freezes the frame. "Gotcha."

"You know him?" Kate asks.

"No. It's hard to tell for sure, but I don't think so."

"I don't recognize him either."

Beckett grabs her weapon and and her badge. "He could just be another bystander, but I think this is more than a coincidence. Ryan, you and I are going to stop by the TV station and get all the raw footage that they have available. Then we'll talk to the management at CTR and see if they can give us an ID on him. Esposito—"

"I'll be right here," the detective says firmly, without even a hint of disappointment in his voice.

She nods gratefully and the guys retreat to the kitchen as Castle takes her hands in his. "I wish I could go with you."

She pauses for a few seconds to be absolutely sure that she means what she says. "I wish you could too. We wouldn't have gotten this break without you."

"Be safe, Kate," he whispers as he brushes his lips across against her cheek.

"I'll try," she says. It's not a promise, but it's the best she can give him.

"Good," he says firmly. "Now get out there and find my murderer."

**End of Chapter 7**


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: As always, the characters belong to ABC.

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 8**

As soon as she and Ryan get into the car, she swallows three tablets of ibuprofen and washes them down with her coffee.

"You're sure you're okay to do this today?" Ryan asks. "I noticed that you're not wearing the sling."

"I'll manage," she reassures him. "I may not be running down any suspects, but I can still chase a lead with the best of them."

"You're the boss," he shrugs.

She calls ahead to the news studio while they're en route, and the manager is ready and waiting when she and Ryan arrive. His assistant ushers them into a studio filled with audio and visual equipment, and thirty minutes later, they're on their way back out the door with DVD's of all the studio's video footage taken near Castle's place and glossy 8 x 10 photos of the man in the blue jacket.

Ryan drives to CTR headquarters, where they're met by a pale, balding, middle-aged man who looks like he'd be horribly out of place at a construction site. He wrings his hands together nervously before finally extending one toward her. "I'm Paul Greer."

"Mr. Greer, my name is Kate Beckett." She shows him her badge. "This is Detective Ryan. We're investigating the—" she struggles with the word for a moment, "_murder_ of Richard Castle. We'd like to talk to you about someone whom we believe to be one of your employees."

He motions them over to a conference table and moves a set of blueprints out of the way before taking a seat. "How can I help you, detectives?"

Ryan pulls out the still shots of the man's face that they received at the news studio. "Do you recognize this man?"

"Yeah, I know him," the man says resignedly. "That's Philip Jacobi. He's a good man, but I have to admit that he's been acting strange lately."

"In what way?" she asks.

Greer sighs softly and runs a hand through what little is left of his hair. "He used to be completely reliable, but he's changed a lot over the last few months. He's been showing up late now and again, and he gets easily distracted. The only reason I kept him on as long as I have is that I've been short-handed lately and he has a lot of experience. He was working a second job as a night watchman up until a couple of weeks ago. He's actually been doing a lot better here since he quit. I was hoping the kid had finally turned the corner, but it looks like he just went off the deep end instead."

"You had a theft of some explosives a couple of months back," Ryan says. "Did he have access to the area where they were stored?"

"He had access," Greer replies, "but so did a dozen other guys, and, in any case, the shed showed signs of forced entry."

"Did he have the knowledge to be able to use the explosives?" Kate asks.

"People don't realize it, but sometimes construction involves some light demolition; you have to clear an area in order to be able to build on it. Jacobi didn't work with explosives by himself, but I had him apprentice with some of my experienced men." Greer's expression is bleak. "They said he was a quick learner."

She shoots a quick glance over at Ryan to make sure he's taking notes. "Where is he working today?"

The manager gets up and consults a spreadsheet on his desk. "According to this, he's supposed to be at a site just south of the Guggenheim."

"Can you think of any reason he might have to want to hurt Richard Castle?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "You know, I don't recall him ever even mentioning Mr. Castle. If he had any strong feelings about him, he kept them well-hidden. You can ask the other men in the crew, but these are construction workers. They don't exactly have book circles during their lunch breaks."

"We'll need access to his personnel file to obtain his address and other information," she says as she and Ryan get to their feet.

"Of course. My assistant can help you with that."

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Greer."

He smiles wanly. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you, detective. And I'm sure you'll forgive me when I tell you that I hope to hell you're wrong about this."

She gets a copy of Jacobi's personnel file and skims through it as they leave the building. "This feels strange, Ryan," she says.

"I know," he agrees. "Castle and a construction worker. They don't exactly run in the same circles. Do you think we have probable cause for a search warrant?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Not yet, anyway. This case has to be absolutely airtight."

"Everything by the book, so afterward, we get to throw it at him?"

"Exactly." She pulls out her phone and searches for a number.

"Who are you calling?" Ryan asks.

"I need to speak to a man about a dog. Call Esposito, let him know what's going on, and see if Castle recognizes Philip Jacobi's name."

"On it," he says as he goes to bring the car around.

A familiar voice answers on the first ring. "Price."

"Dominic, this is Kate Beckett. I need another favor."

* * *

"Aww," Ryan says softly. "What a cutie."

Kate turns around to see what's gotten his attention. She's never been much of an animal lover, but even she has to admit that the golden retriever trotting happily toward them is pretty damn adorable. Or maybe Ryan's talking about the dog's slim, attractive, twenty-something handler. The pair come to a halt in front of Jacobi's apartment building, and Kate quickly introduces herself and Ryan.

"Tonya Pearson," the woman replies. She looks affectionately down at the dog waiting patiently at her side. "And this is Willis. Dom told me that you needed our help."

"Thanks for coming." Kate looks up at the facade of the building. "We're going to be going up to the eighth floor, apartment number—"

"Don't tell me," the officer interrupts. "It makes for more dramatic testimony in court if we can tell the jury that the dog was able to determine the suspected location on his own. If there's something there, Willis will find it."

The dog's tail wags enthusiastically at the mention of his name.

"Okay, then," Kate says. "Let's see what he can do." They enter the building and take the elevator up to the eighth floor.

"Find it, Willis," Pearson urges.

The retriever puts his nose to the floor and begins sniffing eagerly along the baseboards of the hallway and along the bottom edge of each door before finally coming to a stop in front of apartment 814. He sits down and looks at the handler eagerly.

"That's a hit," she says as she pulls a decrepit-looking stuffed frog from a pocket. "Is this the apartment your suspect is in?"

"Yes." Kate breathes out a soft sigh of relief.

"Good boy, Willis!" Pearson says as she squeezes the frog. A low, croaking sound emerges from it and the dog goes into paroxysms of delight. "Get it!" She tosses the frog upwards and Willis snaps it out of the air before chewing on it enthusiastically. "I'll call Dominic and tell him that we need a full team and another building evac. I'm sure he'll be _thrilled."_

Kate allows herself a ghost of a smile. "Ryan, I think you can get that search warrant now. I also want a warrant for Jacobi's arrest."

"You got it." He reaches for his phone. "You want me to call Esposito too, or do you want to break the news yourself?"

"Go ahead," she says. "I'll call later." They both know that Esposito's not the man she really wants to talk to anyway.

Kate and Ryan begin evacuating the residents while they wait for the bomb unit to arrive. She finds herself working mechanically, hoping like hell that this is the _last _time she has to deal with something like this. Oh, the case isn't over yet, not by a long shot, but the end is in sight. Then she and Castle can begin to put this behind them and move forward toward...what, exactly? A casual relationship? She wants more than just a night in his bed, although that certainly wouldn't be a bad place to start. She feels a little rush of warmth at the thought and shakes her head. There's just something about the man that makes her feel more relaxed and carefree than she's felt since her mother died, and those feelings extend to Alexis and Martha as well. All their personalities mesh together so well. Can she really hope to become a part of such a comfortable family without destroying the working relationship she's built with Castle? And maybe even more importantly, could she bear it if she tries and fails?

* * *

Hours later, they're back at the precinct with boxes of evidence and a pretty damning case against their suspect. Beckett's mouth tightens grimly as she finally comes face-to-face with the murder board that Ryan set up for Castle. The photo that Ryan chose for him is the publicity head shot from the back of "Heat Wave". It's a picture she's always loved—the blue shirt accentuates his eyes and his mouth is twisted into the little half-smirk that she's become so familiar with over the last couple of years—but she can't bear to look at it in its current context. She affixes Philip Jacobi's booking photo to the board and studies it for a moment. He's a solidly built young black man, neatly groomed, with no obvious tattoos or scars, and his expression seems more than a little bewildered.

Ryan reads to her from his notes. "Philip Jacobi, 27 years old, never married, only child of Teresa and Frank Jacobi. Mom's still alive, but the father passed away about four years ago. Jacobi's been at the construction job for six years and counting. He worked at the night watchman job for about five months before quitting almost two weeks ago. Nothing unusual in his financials until late last year, when he gradually started taking money out of savings accounts. The second job helped stem the bleeding, but it looks like he's pretty much broke right now."

"So where did the money go?"

"Looks like he took it out in cash, so there's no way to know for sure."

"Gambling? Drugs?"

"No signs of either so far. I've got a couple of guys from the 15th knocking on his neighbor's doors. They were kind of freaked out about the evacuation, but so far the only info we've gotten from any of them are that he was quiet and kept pretty much to himself. One of them said that when he wasn't working lately, he was spending time visiting his mother. Sounds more like a Boy Scout than a killer."

"Has anyone spoken to her yet?"

"Yeah. She seemed pretty torn up. Said she couldn't think of any reason why he'd want to hurt Castle. Or you, for that matter. Apparently, he took the night watchman job to help her with medical bills. She's been keeping her head above water, but just barely."

"Maybe that's where the money's going," she offers, "but I just don't see a connection between that and our case. You're sure Castle never heard of him?"

"That's what he said," Ryan confirms.

They've waited long enough. She pausess and takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what may prove to be a very difficult interrogation. They don't have proof that he was ever trying to kill her, but the note under her bed (_Made you look!) _says that he's playing some kind of sick little game, and she's not looking forward to getting a firsthand view into what makes a mind like that tick.

She enters the interrogation room with Ryan right behind her and slaps Jacobi's file on the table in front of him. She was still hoping that she might recognize him, might know him from somewhere, but there's nothing there. He looks up at her placidly and waits for her to make the first move.

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett." She doesn't know what kind of reaction she was expecting, but the only thing he displays is stony indifference.

"You have the right to remain silent."

"I've already been read my rights." His voice is soft and resigned.

She ignores him. There will be no technicalities, no "get out of jail free" cards, not for this case. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"Yes, I understand."

She forces herself to keep her voice calm and even. "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you."

"I've already been through this, lady."

"Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

"Yes, I understand. Can we get on with this, please?"

Kate takes the chair across from his and opens his file. "State your full name for the record, please."

"Philip Aaron Jacobi." His eyes are downcast.

She pulls out her cell phone and shows him a picture that she took earlier outside his apartment. "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a dog," he says, confused.

"Not just any dog. Willis is trained to sniff out explosive materials. A couple of my colleagues and I took him for a walk in your building earlier today. Want to guess whose door he picked out for us?"

"Is this going somewhere, detective?"

"We found everything, Philip. We found the remnants of the explosives in your closet and the box of detonators and wiring under your bed."

Finding yet another shoebox under a bed had been the latest in a long string of nasty shocks. She pulls out the hard copies of the pictures that CSU took in his apartment and shows them to him. "We found the box of plastic gloves you used to keep from getting your prints on anything. We have footage of you checking out your handiwork from the street below Richard Castle's apartment." She shows him the stills of him that they got from the news station. "We have everything we need to put you away for a very long time."

"If you think you've got this all sewn up, then why am I here? Why question me?"

"Because I want to know _why_. Everybody who knows you says you're a decent guy, so why would you suddenly decide to do something like this? I don't like loose ends."

"She's totally serious about that," Ryan offers as an aside. "They piss her off. Why don't you just confess and save us all a lot of time?"

Jacobi leans back in his chair, looks up at the ceiling, and closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens his eyes and speaks again, his voice is low and firm. "I was angry because he killed off my favorite character. I stole the explosives from the worksite and used them to make a bomb, which I put in his apartment." He puts his hands flat on the table and runs a thumb along the links between his handcuffs. "I killed Richard Castle."

Her anger is not just simmering now, it's white-hot and if her shoulder weren't already giving her hell, she'd have to fight down the urge to hit him. Instead, she uses her key to unlock his handcuffs and hands him a notebook and a pen."Write out what you've told us and sign it."

He bends to his work and hands the notepad back a few minutes later. She scans the note quickly.

_I was angry because Richard Castle killed off Derek Storm's character. I stole the explosives from my job's worksite and used them to make a bomb, which I put in Richard Castle's apartment. I'm guilty of the murder of Richard Castle._

His signature and today's date are at the bottom of the page.

She puts his cuffs back on. "That's enough for now. Ryan, you're with me."

As soon as they're out of the interrogation room, Ryan laughs softly. "Who knew you could get a confession just by asking for one?" he asks jauntily. "Man, Esposito's gonna be hacked that he missed out on this."

"We're not finished yet," she says firmly. "He's lying, and I intend to find out why."

**End of Chapter 8**


	9. Chapter 9

I know it's been a good long while since I've been able to update, and I truly appreciate all the kind words and encouragement I've received from those curious to see what happens next. As always, the characters are so very NOT mine.

**

* * *

Fallout, Chapter 9**

"You mean he didn't do it?" Ryan asks.

"I'm not sure what he did or didn't do," she says, "but I know damned well that he didn't do this because he was upset about Castle's books. Look at what he wrote." She holds the note back up and points out the first sentence.

_I was angry because Richard Castle killed off Derek Storm's character. _

"See how he spelled Storm's name? It's supposed to be D-E-R-R-I-C-K, not D-E-R-E-K. Anyone obsessed enough to kill over it would know that. There are so many little things that don't add up. Castle's written over twenty books, but we didn't find a single one in Jacobi's place."

"Maybe he checked them out from the library or borrowed them from a friend. Or maybe he had some and sold them all," Ryan ventures. "I mean, the guy was flat broke and didn't have anything of value in his place."

"It's possible," she admits, "but did you notice that he didn't react at all when he saw me? We're talking about someone who broke into my place and planted that box with the note in my bedroom, not to mention the letter that was sent to the publisher. No, the details just don't fit." She hands him the paper. "Get this to handwriting analysis and have them compare it with the other samples. I'll bet dollars to doughnuts that it doesn't match."

"You thinking that we've got more than one person involved?"

"Honestly, Ryan, I don't know what to think." She runs a hand through her hair. "It's late. Let's question him again in the morning and see if we can get any other details out out of him after he's had time to think things over."

"You staying at the safe house again?"

"Yeah." She can't imagine any other place she'd rather be right now.

"Okay. Let me drop this off and I'll drive you out there as soon as I'm done."

"Thanks." She takes another long look at the murder board. It's a mass of inconsistencies. There's the victim, who's not really a victim, and the murderer, who's not really a murderer, regardless of whether the intent was there or not.

Captain Montgomery walks up quietly beside her, and, in a low voice, says "Give me some good news, detective."

"I got a confession out of him."

He pauses for a few seconds. "From the sound of your voice, I'm guessing there's a pretty sizable shoe waiting to be dropped."

"It's bogus. I don't know what he's trying to accomplish, but he's either covering up his real motive, or he's covering up for the real murderer. Bomber. Whatever you want to call him. Either way, I don't like it."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"A good night's sleep and a fresh perspective, not necessarily in that order."

"You've done a damn fine job so far," he says. "The press has been hounding us for a statement and the mayor's approved letting them know that we have a suspect in custody. But we've only got one more day, two tops, before they start to ask about a death certificate and memorial arrangements."

_Memorial arrangements? _She hadn't even thought about the possibility. Surely even Castle wouldn't want to carry the charade that far, although her mind's eye suddenly conjures up a vision of him winking at confused mourners as they file slowly past his open casket. She won't let it come to that. They have some substantial leads now, and she feels the familiar sense of anticipation that comes just before a case blows wide open.

"We're close," she says, "but there's something missing that I can't put my finger on just yet."

Ryan rounds the corner with his car keys jingling in his hands. "Ready to go?"

The captain studies the murder board and puts a hand to her shoulder. Apparently, he's forgotten about her injury. His touch isn't that firm, but she still has to suppress a wince at the contact. "Well," he frowns, "we're going to have to go public sooner or later, but I'd prefer to do it with an airtight case. Go get your rest, and we'll see what tomorrow brings."

She busies herself with getting her things together until the captain leaves before telling Ryan, "I'd like to stop at my place first."

"Sure. Something in particular I can run in and grab for you?"

"Yes," she says as they walk toward the elevator. "I need the pain medication that they gave me at the hospital."

"Bad, huh?" He eyes her shoulder sympathetically.

"Not bad enough to keep me off this case, so don't tell—"

"The captain. I get it," he agrees, "but promise me that you'll let Esposito and I help wherever we can."

"You're already helping," she reminds him.

"I'm doing my job. And now I'm going to go outside of that role for just a minute, but hear me out."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nah, you're a captive audience," he says as he opens the passenger door of the car for her. He walks around the car and sits in the driver's seat, but doesn't start the engine just yet. "I just wanted to say that you and Castle, whatever you have, I'm happy for you. I mean, I'm jealous, but I'm happy."

This day is just full of surprises. "Are you trying to tell me that you're gay?" she asks cautiously.

"What?" The look on his face is comical. "No! Oh, you mean about being jealous. No, I mean, having Jenny in my life is great, but she doesn't know what our lives are really like. Sometimes that's a good thing, but sometimes we have _those_ cases...you know, the ones that make you want to puke your guts out and shower with bleach."

She knows. Every homicide cop does.

"I think—" he shrugs and starts the ignition before carefully backing out of the space. "I think it would be really nice to be with someone who understands."

"It would be," she agrees softly. What the hell? She's too tired and in too much pain to think clearly about the state of her relationship with Castle. "I mean, it is. It's nice."

_"_I'm glad," he smiles, "and I'm sure you already know this, but if he ever requires, say, an _attitude adjustment_, you know who to call, right?"

She can't help but grin. "I do. Thanks, Ryan."

"You bet."

* * *

As soon as they walk through the door, Castle is there waiting for her.

She steps into his arms gratefully and murmurs "Gently, please," as he pulls her close. He lets her go immediately and gives her a quick once-over.

"You okay?" he asks, his features etched with concern.

"I will be." She pulls the bottle of pain pills that Ryan retrieved for her out of her pocket and shows it to him. "You were right about things getting worse before they get better. I'll wait a little longer before I take one though, in case it knocks me out."

"Good idea." He pulls one of the chairs at the kitchen table out for her. "Have a seat and fill us in."

"What's the last thing you told them?" she asks Ryan.

"We haven't heard jack since you were about to question Jacobi." Esposito looks at Ryan accusingly.

"Man, you won't believe it," Ryan starts excitedly as he slides into his chair. "I asked the guy for a confession and he gave us one!"

Kate skewers him with a look.

"But it didn't hold up." Ryan's shoulders slump dejectedly.

"What, is the dude crazy or something?" Esposito asks.

"Not as far as we can tell," she says, "but there's something very wrong with his story." She explains the misspelling of Storm's name and Jacobi's failure to react to her appearance.

"Maybe he's got multiple personalities," Castle suggests, "and one personality doesn't realize what the other is up to."

"No history of mental illness, plus I think his boss or his coworkers would have noticed by now."

"Not necessarily. If he had a very recent mental break, they might not have caught on yet."

"I'll have him evaluated by a shrink tomorrow," Beckett says, "but I don't think that's what we're dealing with."

Castle stands abruptly and paces for a few seconds before stopping abruptly. "Evil twin?"

Ryan shakes his head. "He's an only child."

"Yeah, but he's adopted," Esposito corrects him.

"What? That wasn't in my notes," Ryan protests.

"Hey, bro, you got your sources, I got mine. You think I spent all day here watching One Life to Live?"

"Was he adopted at birth?" Kate interjects.

"I don't know," Esposito says, "but I'll see what I can dig up."

"Good. Ryan, I want you to—"

She's interrupted by a knock at the door. "Are we expecting someone?" she says, instantly getting to her feet and reaching for her weapon.

"Relax." Esposito motions for her to sit down again as he stands up and walks to the door, carefully checking outside before opening it. "Dr. Parish called earlier and said she'd be by with dinner."

"You wanna give a girl a hand, here?" Lanie says as she steps inside, juggling pizza boxes, a paper bag, and a small black satchel.

"I'll get the pizza," Ryan volunteers, taking the boxes from her hands.

"This is for you," Lanie smiles sweetly as she hands the paper bag to Castle.

He lifts his eyebrows. "After what you brought me last night, I'm almost afraid to look."

"You didn't enjoy what I brought you last night?" Lanie shoots a quick glance at Kate.

"Oh, it was enjoyed all right." Kate can't resist baiting her friend. "Repeatedly."

Castle clears his throat loudly. "You two realize that the rest of us are all still here, right?"

"That's okay. I don't mind a bit," Ryan says around a mouthful of pizza.

"Me, either," Esposito adds as he pulls a huge slice onto a plate. "I have a feeling this is just starting to get good."

Lanie cocks her head and looks at Kate thoughtfully. "So, you're saying that you not only listened to my advice, but you actually followed through? While you were in the hospital, did they happen to check you for head injuries?"

"What can I say, Lanie?" Kate shrugs and looks affectionately at Castle. "When you're right, you're right."

"Well, you can't argue with that logic." The M.E. lifts her little black bag and crooks a finger at Castle. "Follow me to the bedroom. I need to check you out."

"Did that sound as dirty as I think it did?" Esposito asks as Castle gets to his feet.

"More," Ryan agrees as he reaches for another piece of pizza. "Makes me want to get Jenny a naughty nurse's costume."

Castle puts the still-uninvestigated paper bag on the table. "This isn't going to hurt, is it?" he asks as he follows Lanie down the hall.

"I don't recall you having an overabundance of chest hair that could stick to your bandages, so you should be just fine. Unless, of course, you do something to annoy me, in which case all bets are off."

They round the corner into the bedroom, where, earlier that morning, Castle had thoughtfully arrayed his animal creations around the head of the bed. Kate counts to herself. _One, two, three..._

_"_Beckett!" Lanie doesn't even try to disguise the irritation in her voice. "You and I have _got_ to have a talk."

Kate laughs at the absurdity of the situation. She knows that the pain and the fatigue are catching up to her, because everything seems so surreal. How she's able to laugh when the person who tried to murder Castle might still be on the loose is anyone's guess. Suddenly ravenous, she grabs a slice of pizza from the box and drags it onto a plate. While it cools, she investigates the contents of Castle's paper bag. It contains all the toiletries a man might need, including a light-up toothbrush shaped like a lightsaber. That's definitely going to score some points with him. Ryan or Esposito must have blabbed to Lanie at some point about her pain, because there's also a tube of analgesic cream for her shoulder.

"He's healing just fine." Lanie comes back, bag in hand, and spots the ointment in Kate's hand. "That's strong stuff, so go easy on it. Actually, it works best when somebody else rubs it in for you." She glances meaningfully at Castle, who's pulling his shirt on over his head as he walks back into the kitchen.

"You never give up, do you?" Kate asks as she bites into her pizza. The sauce is seasoned perfectly and the crust is sublime. She closes her eyes as she chews appreciatively. When she opens them again, she sees Castle looking at her strangely.

"What?" she asks as she takes another bite.

"Nothing," he smiles. "I'm just hoping to see that blissed-out look directed at me one of these days."

"It could happen," she replies. His face brightens considerably. "Just get the name of Lanie's pizza place."

He sticks his tongue out at her and grabs a plate.

Ryan's phone rings and he chews his remaining mouthful hastily as he answers it. "You guys work fast." He raises his eyebrows. "How sure? Eighty-five percent confidence? Okay, yeah, I'll pass it on. Thanks."

"That was my contact at handwriting analysis," he says. "I gave her all three of our samples: the confession, the letter that was in the mail, and the note from the shoebox under the bed. She says they all match."

Kate struggles to choke down a mouthful of pizza that suddenly tastes like the box it arrived in.

**End of Chapter 9**


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Never owned 'em, never will. Those of you that have been paying attention should note that it's been only two weeks since I last updated. Isn't that one of the signs of the apocalypse?

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 10**

What the hell? She'd been positive that the samples wouldn't match. It's not the first time she's been wrong and it won't be the last, but that doesn't seem to help lessen the sting.

"I don't get it," Ryan says.

Esposito drops his piece of pizza back onto the plate and grabs a napkin. "The evil twin idea is starting to sound pretty good right about now."

"Look," Lanie says, "before I left the morgue, I heard about how this guy you arrested had made a full confession. I'm getting pretty damn tired of covering for the lack of a body on my slab and I got three phone calls today alone from people trying to bribe me to turn over copies of Castle's autopsy photos. Somebody better fill me in on the latest developments before I start thinking about taking the money and booking a flight to Barbados."

"Barbados is nice this time of year. Rainy season won't start for a good while yet." Castle seems completely unfazed at the prospect of people trying to buy his autopsy photos.

"Yeah, well you're stuck here until you're officially undead," Kate reminds him. Then she thinks about her poor choice of words and closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable comment about zombies. To her surprise, it never comes. Warm fingers wrap around her hand and squeeze lightly, lending her some of his strength.

"We've got hard physical evidence tying Philip Jacobi to the case, Lanie," she explains. "When we searched his place, we found more explosives, detonators, wiring, everything he'd need to assemble a bomb. He confessed to stealing the explosives from his worksite, making the bomb, and putting it in Castle's apartment. And now we have word that he most likely wrote the notes we already had in evidence."

"Okay, then," Lanie says quietly. "You still sure he's not our guy?"

"No, but when I questioned him, he showed no sign of fear, no resentment, no anger, just..._nothing_. It was like he didn't know who I was and didn't care. Besides, handwriting analysis isn't like DNA or fingerprinting. It's subject to interpretation, and they admit to a 15 percent chance that they're wrong. Honestly, I think the chances of there being a missing twin out there or a split personality disorder are a lot lower than that."

"Occam's razor," Castle says quietly. "The simplest explanation is usually correct, but then, there's nothing simple about this case, is there?"

"You got that right," Ryan says as he starts clearing the table of dishes and food.

Esposito gets up as well and stretches. "We need to get back to the precinct to look through the surveillance videos of your place. See if anyone besides Castle has made a conspicuous entry lately."

"Hey, Doc," Ryan offers, "you want to watch some movies with us? I think Esposito's got some Twizzlers in his desk."

Lanie shakes her head. "No, I think I'd better stay in the morgue tonight. I padlocked the drawer that's supposedly holding Castle's remains, but I'm sure there are a few interns that would be willing to buy some bolt cutters for the kind of money I got offered today."

"Oh yeah?" Castle's eyes light up. "Just how much are we talking about here?"

"Enough so that Barbados is starting to sound pretty tempting. You might want to sleep with one eye open tonight," she pats his shoulder affectionately before shifting her eyes to Kate for a second, "or at least with someone who has a vested interest in keeping your anatomy intact."

She manages to duck the wadded-up napkin that Kate throws at her head, but Kate can still hear her laughter long after they all leave.

Castle carefully locks the door behind them before returning to the kitchen. She hears the sink run for a few seconds, and then he's back at her elbow with one of the pain pills and a glass of water.

"Thanks." Just like the handwriting analysis, it goes down bitter. She sips the rest of the water slowly as she goes through the day's events in her mind—analyzing, organizing, sorting through all the information they have, and then finally clearing her thoughts enough to be able to function with some level of clarity. He takes the chair beside hers and waits quietly until she says, "You're in a better mood than I expected."

"Well, I got to talk to Alexis and my mother a little while ago. Meredith had gone somewhere with her boyfriend, so there was no risk of them overhearing."

"How are they holding up?"

"Surprisingly well. Alexis says she's having a hard time keeping up appearances, so she just stays in her room a lot and lets my mother run interference with Meredith. She also mentioned that she has a history test next week, and asked if we could please just hurry up and figure this out before it wrecks her GPA."

Kate smiles, letting the thought of Alexis's over-the-top study habits lighten her mood. "And they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I think she's in an entirely different orchard."

He takes her hand and runs his thumb gently across the back of it before tracing a fingertip along one of the thin scabs still criss-crossing the surface of her hands. They're beginning to itch as they heal, but she still takes pains to leave them alone, remembering her mother's advice from when she was just a little girl:_"Don't pick at that, Katie, or it'll leave a scar."_

"You should probably know," he says, "that I didn't tell her or my mother about us."

_Us._ She feels her skin flush slightly. It's such a tiny word. Just two letters. How come she never noticed that before? And why keep it a secret? Are they too new at this, or does he have doubts?

"It was hard to keep it to myself," he admits. "I almost caved."

"I—" she starts, not really sure of what to say. "I wouldn't have minded. Why did you want to wait?"

"Because when you give someone a special gift, one that you just know they're going to love, well, you want to be around to see the expression on their face when they open it."

She lifts her head to see his whimsical smile, and, in that brief moment, Kate feels an unexpected pang of loss as she realizes that she will never get to experience her mother's joy at seeing them together.

He notes her expression. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, Castle. You said everything just right." She rests her palm against his cheek for a second before kissing his mouth lightly.

"You know," he says sternly as he gives her a look of mock accusation, "I've been using your first name for a couple of days now. Any particular reason you're not using mine? I think I read an article in _Cosmo_ that said that the best relationships are ones where the partners are on an equal footing—"

"I carry a gun around with me," she interrupts. "Our incomes are off by an order of magnitude. We will _never_ be on an equal footing. And what the hell are you doing reading _Cosmo_?"

He ignores her. "Come on, it's easy," he says. "Rick. Rhymes with..." There's a long silence as he taps his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I just realized that there isn't a single word out there that rhymes with Rick that I'd like you to associate with me."

"Not even 'lick'?" she suggests.

His lips purse appreciatively. "Oooh, I missed that one. Yeah, I don't think I'd mind that at all."

"Didn't think you would," she teases, leaning toward him and flicking the tip of her tongue lightly along his neck before deliberately emphasizing his name, "_Castle."_

"You'll say it eventually," he laughs. "Preferably while we're in bed. It would be so incredibly hot to hear your voice break on my name."

"What if I accidentally say 'Rook' instead?"

"That wouldn't be so bad, either. Think about it, though. I just used the words 'while we're in bed', and you didn't shoot me down. Is it any wonder that I'm in a good mood tonight?" His eyes sparkle with both humor and desire, but anything more than a little flirting and a lot of sleep is out of the question.

"Speaking of bed," she yawns hugely, cracking her jaw in the process, "I think I'm starting to get sleepy."

"Come on." He helps her to her feet and nudges her toward the bedroom. "Do whatever you need to do to get ready for bed, and then I'll rub Lanie's cream on your shoulder."

When she pads out of the bathroom a few minutes later in soft pajama pants and a camisole, he's sitting on the bed waiting for her. He chuckles and she raises her eyebrows expectantly. "I was just thinking about what Lanie said earlier. Well, do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Have a vested interest in keeping my anatomy intact?" He smiles suggestively.

"Are you going to be cocky and obnoxious about it if I say yes?"

He pretends to think it over before grinning broadly. "No more than usual."

"Then yes," she admits. "Now scoot your anatomy over and make it at least somewhat useful."

"You know I like it when you're bossy." He leans back against the headboard, spreads his legs into a vee and motions for her to sit between them. She settles her back firmly against his chest and turns her body slightly, letting her head rest on his left shoulder. He grabs the package of ointment and reads the directions, "Rub liberally over affected area no more than four times daily. For external use only." He pauses for a moment. "Seriously? People have to be told not to eat this stuff?"

"So you finally have me in bed and now you're worrying about medical disclaimers?"

"Sorry." He slides the strap of her camisole down her arm. "Now where was I?"

The cream is cold at first, and his fingers glide in a smooth, cool path across the skin on her back, moving against her rhythmically as he applies the medicine. She sags a little more against the increasingly familiar solidity of his body as her skin begins to warm and soften. His hand rubs against her a little harder now—first front to back, then from one side to another, and finally in tiny little circles with the lightest of touches from the pads of his thumb and fingers. The pill she took blunted the majority of the pain and she sighs with relief as his touch gradually soothes away what was left. It takes her a while to notice when he stops moving.

"What?" she asks.

"I was just thinking about how much more comfortable my own bed would be, but then I remembered that I don't have one anymore."

She thinks about the ruined furniture, the broken fixtures, and the shattered glass. "I'm sorry. I don't know how much you saw before we got you out of there, but there's a lot of stuff you don't have anymore, Castle."

"Then I guess I'd better focus on what I _do_ have," he says gently. He kisses the top of her head and tightens the arm that's holding her close to his chest. She takes a deep breath, lets it out again, and as her body finally drifts into sleep, she has just enough presence of mind to understand and remember the words that he murmurs so softly that she's not sure if he even meant them for her ears.

_"It's more than enough."_

**End of Chapter 10**


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Just in case the disclaimers in the first ten chapters didn't take, the characters are _still _not mine.

I'm not going to start celebrating just yet, but I published the first chapter of Fallout on November 5th of last year. There's a real chance that I might be able to finish before the anniversary. I appreciate all the reviews and reminders from everyone who decided to see it through to the end.

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 11**

Sometimes, in Kate's dreams, she rescues him.

Grabs the collar of his vest to pull him out of the line of fire, shoves him to the ground and holds him there with her knee in his back. She sees a threat to him, and she acts instinctively. Most of the time, the assailants are just nameless, faceless punks, but every once in a while she relives the day that she exchanged her past for Castle's future. She remembers how every thrust of her hands on Coonan's chest just added more blood to the pool beneath him until Castle finally pulled her gently away from the body of the man who killed her mother and then died with his secrets untold.

These are the good dreams.

Other times, she's too late. The hands pulling at her belong to Ryan and Esposito, and when she looks at the bloodied body lying at her feet, it's not Coonan's, but Castle's, and no matter how hard she scrubs, the bloodstains on her hands just won't wash away.

Two days ago, that nightmare was almost realized. She'd dropped to her knees beside Castle's body, ripped his shirt open, and run her hands across his bloody chest, unaware of the extent of his injuries, but desperate for him to live. Now she listens to his slow breathing in the early morning quiet, nestles her head a little more snugly into his shoulder, and wonders what the future will hold for them.

When he's in her world, he's a cop too, at least in most of the ways that really matter. When she's in his, what will she be? A mother figure for Alexis and a daughter figure for Martha? A target for his ex-wives? Someone to dance with him at launch parties and sit beside him at book signings? She knows there will be interviews, and publicists, and much more attention than she's used to, as well as plenty of Nikki Heat comparisons, but there might be certain compensations as well. She's looking forward to taking advantage of them.

Her fingers drift lazily across his bandaged pectoral muscles. He must have taken his shirt off at some point during the night.

His eyelids flutter for a moment and he uses the arm that's already wrapped around her to pull her a little more tightly to him. "Hey there."

"Hey yourself."

"So how do you feel today?" he mumbles drowsily.

The meds knocked her out long enough to get several hours of pain-free rest. She feels good, and she wants him to know it. "You tell me."

Castle opens his eyes and runs his hand from her shoulder down to her hip and back again. Her camisole slid up her body while she slept and his fingers linger on the exposed skin of her back. "You feel amazing. Soft in all the right places." She hits a ticklish spot, and he lifts her hand to his mouth and examines it closely before kissing her knuckles lightly. "Looks like we're both going to come out of this with a few scars, though."

"If we're lucky, most of them will be visible."

"And the ones that aren't?"

"Just like any other scar." She takes the painful memory of finding him in the ruins of his apartment and pushes it firmly down into her subconscious. "They fade with time."

"You know, you can tell a lot about a person by their hands," he says. "Yours are strong, just like the rest of you. Definitely a cop's hands."

For some reason, the comment rankles, and she pulls away from his grasp. "I'm more than just a cop, Castle."

"I know that, but—"

"There's a difference between knowing something and really understanding it." Sure, she doesn't take much time for herself away from work, but, all too often, people assume that her job defines her and she lets that thought pass unchallenged far too often. No more. "My hands can do a hell of a lot more than hold a gun or collect evidence." She reaches beneath the covers and rests her palm on the smooth skin on his stomach, smiling with perverse satisfaction at the sudden clenching of his jaw. Ever so slowly, she begins to toy with the waistband of his boxers. His muscles jump beneath her fingertips and she notes in passing that his jeans came off at some point as well.

"These legs can do much more than chase down suspects." To prove her point, she throws one over his hip and uses it to roll him firmly against her. The sudden contact draws gasps from both of them. Her body may be soft in all the right places, but his is hard, especially where it matters most. There's an unexpectedly intense rush of desire that she struggles to tamp down. It would be so easy...but dammit, he's going to hear what she has to say.

Their faces are separated by just a few inches now. His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. Now that she has his undivided attention, she's going to make good use of it. "My mouth can give you instructions that I know you're never going to follow, or it can do..." she lowers her voice suggestively, "_other _things." He blinks, drops his gaze to her lips, and swallows convulsively. "And my mind can solve a murder, play a mean game of chess, tell you what year Dark Horse first published, and think of at least a dozen ways to make _your_ voice break on _my_ name."

She waits for a response, but he just stares at her, slack-jawed.

"Well?"

"Sorry," he says quickly. "I, uh, I was still focused on your mouth there for a second."

She makes a sound of frustration and tries to free herself, but he's having none of it. Careful not to put any weight on her shoulder, he moves to trap her beneath him, resting his weight on his forearms instead of where her traitorous body would prefer it.

"You forgot something, you know," he says. His hair is hanging down in his face and there's an almost-feral gleam in his eye.

"Like what?" she challenges him.

He lowers his mouth to her chest, following the edge of her camisole with his lips and stopping just to the left of her sternum. She bites her lip to keep from whimpering when his mouth leaves her skin as he says, "Your heart. You're cautious with it, and that's understandable, but you do the job anyway. Not because you love it, and not just to put the bad guys away, but because you're unwilling to let anyone else go through the same hell that you did. You give people the gift of closure." He kisses her there again, and she shivers. "I don't see you as just a cop, or as just a woman."

"Then how do you see me?"

His voice is soft, but sure, and he meets her gaze without blinking. "As my partner—in every sense of the word."

This time, she doesn't have to describe what she can do with her mouth. She wraps her hands in his hair and pulls him down to her, kissing him until they're both breathless, until the pounding of the blood in her veins almost drowns out the sound he makes as she wraps her legs tightly around his waist.

He breaks the kiss and asks, "Do you hear that?"

She lifts her head for a moment and realizes with dismay that the thumping sound isn't from her elevated heartrate, but from the vicinity of the front door. "I think we have company," she pants softly.

"I thought they were going to be up late watching surveillance footage," he says incredulously. "Don't they ever sleep?" He nuzzles her neck lightly and whispers into her ear. "You know, we would be entirely within our rights to shoot them. When you consider the extenuating circumstances, there's no jury in the world that would convict us."

She runs her lips along the edge of his stubbled jaw. "I think I could throw my support behind a flesh wound or two."

Miraculously, the noise stops. "Maybe they're going away," he says hopefully.

They wait for the space of a heartbeat. Then five. Then ten. Her fingertips wander slowly down the length of his spine, and then the knocking starts up again, albeit more hesitantly. "Doesn't seem like it," she sighs.

"You think they brought coffee?" he asks hopefully as he rolls over onto his back.

She gives him one last, lingering kiss before getting out of bed. "If not, I'll give you my gun and my blessing."

* * *

Kate readies her notebook as Esposito pulls up in front of Teresa Jacobi's Brooklyn apartment.

"You really think this is going to be worthwhile?" he asks.

"Honestly, I doubt it," she admits. "But a night in jail didn't convince Jacobi to change his story, and the department psychiatrist couldn't get him to talk at all this morning. I'm running out of other ideas." When Esposito moves to open his door, she puts a hand on his arm. "Do you mind waiting outside? She was questioned yesterday, but I'm hoping she might open up a little more in a one-on-one setting."

"No problem." He pulls out the technology department's file of messages from Castle's phone and email accounts and starts looking through it. "I'll be here when you're done."

"Thanks." She walks up to the apartment and rings the doorbell. It's answered by a thin, neatly dressed woman who appears to be in her late sixties, but Beckett suspects that she's a good bit younger. Her skin, already pale, has an almost-translucent quality, and Kate can make out a few gray, wispy hairs peeking out from beneath the bright blue bandana covering her head. She's obviously ill, and now she has a son in jail to add to her worries.

"I'm looking for Teresa Jacobi."

"I'm Teresa."

"My name is Kate Beckett." She pulls out her badge. "I'm a detective with the NYPD. I know you gave a statement yesterday, but I'd like to ask you a few more questions about your son."

Mrs. Jacobi nods tiredly. "I guess you'd better come in."

The apartment is small, but neat. The walls are covered with pictures of teenage boys and young men representing every race and nationality. A picture of a younger Teresa and a man who must be her husband, Frank, hangs in a prominent place in the living room, and a high-school graduation photo of Philip hangs right next to it. Mrs. Jacobi waves at an armchair and takes a seat on the sofa. Kate tries hard not to stare at the collection of pill bottles neatly arrayed on the coffee table. A stack of unopened mail, probably bills, sits beside the television.

"What can you tell me about Philip?"

"I can tell you that he's the last one of the boys I'd expect to get into trouble. We had issues with a few of them over the years." She points at a picture of a dark-haired young man with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Jack had a temper and could never seem to hold a job longer than a week or two." She indicates a few more photos. "Kevin brought drugs into the house. Donnie took money from my purse and forged Frank's signature on a couple of checks, and Javier stole the neighbor's car because his bike had a flat."

Kate tries to smother a smile but Mrs. Jacobi notices anyway and lifts her eyebrows. "I work with someone named Javier," she explains. "But I have to ask—the information we have says that Philip is an only child."

"We used to have a house not far from here," Mrs. Jacobi explains. "It belonged to Frank's mother, and it was a big place. Too big for just the two of us. Frank and I couldn't have children, so when his nephew got in trouble and needed a place to stay, he came to live with us. Before long, he brought a friend that he had met on the street. Those friends brought their friends, and Frank and I took them all in. The neighbors even used to call me 'Mother Teresa'. Some left again, and some stayed until they were old enough to be on their own. Philip was only twelve when he came to us, and he had already been on his own for almost two years." She looks lovingly at his portrait. "He was always so kind, so willing to do anything he could for the family. We did our best for all of them, but Philip was the only one of the boys that we adopted."

"Did either of you stay in contact with the others? Is there any chance any of them would know what's going on?"

"I still get letters or Christmas cards once in a while, but neither of us has a close relationship with any of them. A few months ago, I started getting money and checks from some of the boys. Philip had written letters to everyone he had an address for asking if anyone could help with my medical bills. I wasn't happy when I found out what he'd done, but..." She glances at the bottles of medication and shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "It helped. For a time, anyway. Is there any chance, however small, that he's innocent? That this was all some big mistake?"

Kate chooses her words carefully. "I can't explain further right now, but I have reason to believe that, at the very least, he's not guilty of murder. You said in your statement that he never showed the slightest interest in Richard Castle or in me. Is that correct?"

"Yes. Oh, he might have read a couple of Mr. Castle's books. Frank was a big fan, so we always had some around the house, but Philip never talked about him."

She hesitates to legitimize Castle's wild theories, but there's no harm in at least asking the questions. "Do you know if he had any biological siblings or if there's any history of mental illness in your son's biological family?"

"He was an only child, and we don't know anything about his medical history at all." She reaches for a tissue and dabs at her eyes. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Detective."

Kate pauses before closing her notebook. "Has anything unusual happened in the last few weeks, no matter how unimportant it might seem?"

Mrs. Jacobi thinks for a moment. "Well, there's the comic books."

"Comic books?"

"Frank collected them for years. Philip took them a few months ago to see if he could sell them online, but he didn't seem to have much luck. He called me a couple of weeks ago and said that he'd finally found a buyer who wanted all of them and he came over that afternoon and gave me $10,000 in cash."

There was a box of old comics in Philip Jacobi's apartment, but after having been thumbed through by so many boys, they were in less than stellar condition. At best, the collection might be worth a couple of hundred dollars.

The other woman sees the truth in Kate's eyes. "The money wasn't for the comic books, was it?"

"No," she says gently, "I'm afraid it wasn't."

"I suppose I knew all along, but part of me still wanted to believe." She shakes her head sadly. "Oh, Philip." Mrs. Jacobi gets to her feet and takes an envelope from a drawer beneath the end table. She holds it out to Kate with trembling hands. "I'm afraid I already spent most of it."

Kate looks at the array of medication on the table and the stack of bills before taking the envelope. It's evidence, and, legally, she's required to take it, but that doesn't make her feel any better about it. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Jacobi's voice is strained. "It's just money, Detective. What good is it to me now? It won't give me back my son."

* * *

After her interview with Mrs. Jacobi, she has Esposito take her back to the safe house to discuss strategy with Castle and Ryan. "We're back to the beginning," she says as she taps the tabletop with the end of her pen. "Philip Jacobi didn't have any reason to want you dead, but someone else did and they were willing to pay him for his assistance. Why?"

"I don't have any bright ideas, but I think I'm insulted," Castle comments. "My life is worth a measly ten grand? My mother's shopping sprees run more than that."

"Maybe this will help you feel a little better," she says. She reaches into her bag and hands him his laptop. "I got this from the lab guys this morning. It didn't take any damage and they've already copied everything that might have any bearing on the case, so the captain said you could have it back. I thought you might want to look through old emails and contacts to see if someone or something jogs your memory."

"I may write a little as well," he smiles. "Some recent events have been very...inspirational."

She's sure he's referring to what transpired between them this morning, but, fortunately, the guys seem to be oblivious. They're going through the printouts of all the messages that were sent to Castle's computer and phone.

"That's kind of morbid," Ryan says. "Everyone thinks you're dead, so what's the point of emailing and texting you about how much they're going to miss you?"

"Why do people leave flowers at gravesites?" Castle asks. "Our rituals aren't for the dead. They're for the living." He turns the laptop on and waits for it to boot up. "So what's next? Lean on Jacobi again? Or let him know that I'm alive and that he's not facing a murder charge?"

"I haven't decided yet," she says. "And we—"

"Yo. That's weird." Esposito stands quickly and turns the page in his hand so that she and Castle can see it. "Time stamp and ID say this was a text sent by Alexis a few hours ago."

_I can't live like this, Dad. I miss you too much. Please forgive me._

"That—doesn't sound good," Ryan says somberly.

Castle blanches. "She wouldn't," he insists.

His laptop has finished booting, and his desktop is a recent picture of Alexis, Meredith, and a man whose face she saw less than an hour ago. He's older now, but it's definitely him. Kate reaches for her phone. "She didn't." She dials Alexis's number and points to the man. "Is that Dustin Evans?"

"Yes, that's him," Castle says. "Now tell me what's going on." She can see the effort it's costing him to hold himself together.

"I just saw his picture at Teresa Jacobi's. He and Philip know each other. Come on, Alexis, pick up the damn phone." They all stare at her and wait expectantly. The call rolls over to voice mail.

**End of Chapter 11**


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.

I've been writing chapters 12 and 13 concurrently, which created a bit of a delay in posting. The next (and final) chapter is well on its way.

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 12**

Kate points to Esposito. "Call the captain and tell him we need an immediate warrant for the arrest of Dustin Evans. He'll have to coordinate with the local PD in California."

"On it," he says.

"Ryan, do you know if the protective detail for the family is still in place?"

"Should be," he answers. "I haven't heard otherwise."

"Make sure of it," she says, scrolling through her contact list, "and then get in contact with them."

"I'm calling your mother." Kate turns the speaker on for Castle's benefit and they wait impatiently while the phone rings three times before it's finally answered by a very groggy-sounding Martha.

"Detective Beckett. What can I do for you at this ungodly hour?"

"I'll explain later. Do you know where Alexis is?"

"Well, I'm sure she's still asleep. Meredith had us up until after 2 a.m. doing some sort of horrible 'remembrance circle' thing for Richard."

"I need you to check on her. I'll stay on the line."

"Why? Is something wrong?" Concern begins to color her voice.

"Just do it, Mother," Castle says anxiously.

"She's right next door." Kate hears doors opening and closing, and then, "Alexis, darling, it's time to get up." Then a little louder, "Alexis." Then again, this time with a note of panic in her voice that Kate feels deep down in her gut. "Alexis! I can't wake her."

"Is she breathing?" Castle's voice is strained almost to the breaking point.

"Yes, thank God."

She and Castle both breathe deep sighs of relief, and some of the color returns to his face.

"There's a bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand," Martha says.

"Don't touch it," Kate warns. "It's evidence. I think Dustin Evans may have drugged her. Do you know if he's in the house?"

"I don't know. Meredith is never up this early, but he sometimes goes running in the mornings."

"I've got the protective detail on the phone right now," Ryan says. "They saw him head out for a run about thirty minutes ago. They're ready to arrest him as soon as he shows up again."

"Martha, I want you to stay with Alexis. There should be an ambulance on the way." She looks at Ryan and he gives her a thumbs-up. "Roll her on her side to protect her airway."

"All right. I'm setting the phone down for a moment." They hear rustling noises, groaning, and then something that makes Castle shudder visibly with relief.

Her speech is a little slurred, but Alexis's voice is strong. "Gram? What are you doing?"

Castle collapses into a chair and covers his face with his hands. Kate perches on the armrest next to him and rests her free hand on his back while she stays on the phone until after the EMT's arrive and declare Alexis to be stable and in no immediate danger. She finally, reluctantly, shuts the phone off only after Martha's repeated promises to call if there's any change in Alexis's condition.

"You got all that, right?" she asks Castle. "She's fine. They're just taking her to the hospital for observation."

He lifts his head and looks at her haggardly. She's never seen him look so lost, or so..._broken. _"I need to see her."

"Castle, that's—" She stops herself before she can say "impossible". Simply showing up at the ticket counter at JFK or LaGuardia is not an option. She has a feeling that the deceased are automatically added to the no-fly list, not to mention the scene that his sudden reappearance would create in the terminal. He knows it's not a good idea, and he knows that she knows it. And he's asking anyway.

As crazy as it sounds, she might know a way. "I can't promise anything," she warns, "but I'll try. My father's AA sponsor runs an executive flight service. He's got a small fleet of Lear jets. If they're not all booked, maybe we can get the use of one."

He nods. "That would work. I'll pay whatever it takes, I just..." His voice trails off as he struggles uncharacteristically to find the right words and she squeezes his shoulder gently as she makes one last call.

"Hey, Dad. I'll fill you in on the details later, but I need a jet and a crew to take two—" a loud, throat-clearing noise interrupts her, and she notices that Ryan and Esposito each have a hand raised in the air, "I mean _four_ people to California—the sooner, the better. A commercial flight is out of the question for reasons that I can't go into right now. Do you think Jeff can help?"

* * *

Two hours later, they're at the airport and ready to go. They don't know how long they'll be gone, but they've all packed for a few days. Ryan had the brilliant idea of picking up Castle's dry cleaning, so he looks a lot more like himself, with the exception of the mirrored sunglasses, which he still wears to disguise his face as much as possible. A quick phone call by the mayor resulted in the assurance of cooperation with the local law enforcement officials in California.

"I can't believe you managed to arrange this so quickly," Castle says as they walk out onto the tarmac. Ryan and Esposito arrived a few minutes earlier and are waiting on the Lear already. One of the pilots is conducting an inspection of the exterior of the plane. "I heard you specify that we don't need a host or hostess, but what about the pilots? Can we count on their discretion?" Castle asks as they approach the man.

"I think there's a pretty good chance," she says as she takes several steps forward to take the pilot's hands and kiss his cheek. She hasn't seen him in a few weeks and didn't realize until just now how much she'd missed him. "Now why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"Because you know me too well,"he smiles in return, "I hadn't heard from you since the morning this all started, so I figured I'd take the opportunity to see firsthand how you were doing."

She turns to the side and takes Castle's elbow, pulling him a little closer to her. "Richard Castle, I'd like you to meet Jim Beckett—my father."

They've been hit with so many surprises lately that Castle barely twitches as he takes the revelation in stride. He offers his hand. "Mr. Beckett. I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"Call me Jim," her father says. "Apparently the rumors of your death were somewhat exaggerated."

"I wish I could have told you—" she starts.

"But on a need-to-know basis, I didn't need to know," he finishes for her. "I understand. And I'll see to it that my partner in the cockpit keeps this under wraps."

"I appreciate that," Castle says softly.

The two most important men in her life take a long moment to size each other up. Finally, her father nods almost imperceptibly. "The preflight checks are almost complete, so if you two will go ahead and board, I'll close us up and we'll be on our way."

She and Castle make their way into the plane and she takes the first seat available. Ryan and Esposito have already commandeered the seats in the back and they're busy checking out the plane's amenities and seeing just how far they can make the thickly padded leather chairs recline.

"Yo, Beckett," Esposito says, "I didn't know your dad was a pilot."

"He got his license a couple of years ago," she answers as she stows her things. "Jeff, his sponsor, gave him flying lessons. It helped him pass the time, I think. Whenever Jeff gets shorthanded, he calls my dad. It's worked out pretty well for both of them."

"He makes me kind of nervous," Castle says as he settles himself across the aisle from her.

"How do you think Alexis's boyfriends feel around you?"

"If I'm lucky, sweaty and fearful."

It's his first attempt at humor since they found out about Alexis, and she does her best to prolong it.

"If it's any consolation, he's never waved a pistol at anyone I've brought home."

He gives her a mock scowl. "That thing with Ashley was an accident, and you know it. So your father's not a gun enthusiast, then?" he says hopefully.

"I didn't say that." She takes her notebook from her bag and starts searching for a pen. "He just prefers shotguns."

"You're not helping." The ghost of a smile playing across his lips says otherwise.

Minutes later, they're airborne.

"I think we need to make a couple of basic assumptions," she says as she writes in her notebook. "First and foremost, Alexis did not take those pills. I think we can safely assume that Evans drugged her."

"We definitely agree on that one."

"Two. Evans and Jacobi were working together. We don't have any proof of that, but I refuse to believe that the connection is a coincidence."

"I still don't get a motive. So why would Dustin Evans, or Donald Eckersly, or whatever the hell you want to call him, try to hurt Alexis?"

"Remember when we were discussing motive the morning that this all started? You said that Meredith wouldn't benefit financially if you died, but that's not necessarily the case. Your will stipulates that the bulk of your estate goes to Alexis."

"She couldn't touch it, though," he argues. "She's not of legal age, so she'd only have enough for living expenses and school. The rest would be held in trust until her 21st birthday..." His voice gradually trails off as he sees what she's getting at. He swallows hard. "Unless she dies before then."

"And if that were the case?" she asks gently.

"Well, I'm sure it would be held up in the courts for a while, and my mother could make a case for getting a share of it, but the bulk of the estate would go to Alexis's only other living relative—Meredith."

She taps the tip of her pen against the paper thoughtfully. "Do you think there's any chance she was involved in any way?"

"No. Meredith is vain and she's shallow. And below the surface, there's just more...surface. But I know she loves Alexis. She's always been terrible with money, though, so it's very likely that she'd turn to someone she trusted to help her manage it, and Evans would fit the bill." His fists tighten convulsively. "What a bastard."

"How long have she and Evans been together?"

He takes a deep, calming breath as he thinks about it. "I'm not completely sure, but I think that they've been seeing each other for about six months, and have been living together for about two. But where does Jacobi tie in and how much did he know?"

"I suppose that's what we need to find out, but with both of them in custody, we have a little breathing room."

While he boots up his laptop, she studies the pages of notes she brought along, trying to find something, _anything_ that might provide a concrete link between Dustin Evans and Philip Jacobi. After more than an hour of fruitless searching, she takes a break and pulls out her expert-level Sudoku book. It's easy to make sense of the logic and patterns needed to solve the puzzles, and they help train her mind to look for other types of connections. After solving two puzzles, she runs through her notes yet again, but to no avail. Finally, she closes her eyes for a few minutes to rest them, and the movement of the aircraft lulls her to sleep.

She wakes to the sound of her father's voice. She opens her eyes and sees that he's standing in the aisle with his back turned toward her, talking to Castle. He's keeping his voice pitched low, but she still understands him clearly. "She works too hard, you know. She always did, but it got worse after Johanna died."

"She's extraordinarily good at what she does," Castle replies softly.

"She says you make her better."

"We work well together."

"So I've heard." Her father pauses for a moment. "I used to worry about her burning herself out. Every time we talked, it was always about what case she was on, how many hours she was putting in. That changed a while back. She started talking about you—something funny that you'd said, an idea of yours that helped solve a case, the way you interacted with everyone else at the precinct. I was worried about the impact that your death was going to have on her. Whatever it is you are to each other, I'm grateful that you're still here for her, Mr. Castle."

"Please, it's Rick."

"All right then, Rick, there's something I need you to do for me."

"I have a daughter too," Castle says, "so you can skip the obligatory warning about treating her well."

Her father's laughter brings a smile to her face. It's been far too long since she's heard it. "It's not as though she'd put up with anything less. My daughter can take care of herself, and I'll bet yours can, too. No, I need to ask you to turn your laptop off. We're starting our final approach to Denver to refuel." Still chuckling, he heads back toward the cockpit.

"How much of that did you catch?" Castle asks when he notices that she's awake.

"Enough to know that he likes you."

"It's mutual. You _were_ just kidding about the shotguns, right?" He saves his file and closes his laptop.

She dodges the question. "So what were you working on?"

He exhales sharply. "The murderer's death scene," he explains. "After Nikki solves the case and arrests him, he hangs himself in jail. I'll probably end up cutting it back out later, but for now it's kind of..."

"Cathartic?" she offers.

"Something like that. So tell me, which name sounds more villainous, Justin Levins or Ronald Bickersby?"

"Justin Levins. If you use the first four letters of each name, you can make 'just evil'."

He raises his eyebrows appreciatively. "Wow, you're right. It's almost like it writes itself. I haven't thanked you yet, you know." He reaches across the aisle and wraps his hand around hers.

"For what?"

"Everything." He gestures to the inside of the airplane. "This. Eating lasagna with me. The time you've spent at the SafeHouse Suites. I'd write you out a complete list, but my hand would cramp."

"Yeah, well, if you add up the coffees, bear claws, and wire transfers to offshore accounts, I'm still in the red. It's high time I did something special for you."

"Every day that you let me spend with you is special."

She almost laughs until she sees the seriousness in his eyes and realizes that it's not just hyperbole. This is a man who lives his life with a degree of intensity that she still can't quite wrap her mind around.

Kate lets him know that he's not the only one that can bestow a gift simply with words. She still rolls her eyes at him, (by now it's almost reflex) but she keeps her voice soft and sincere as she squeezes his hand gently. "I had to fall in love with a writer."

* * *

Hours later, they finally make it to their destination. Two rental cars are ready and waiting on their arrival. Ryan and Esposito take one to assist in serving a search warrant at Dustin Evans's apartment. He spent most of his time at Meredith's house, but he held on to his place. She hopes that they can find significance in things that detectives less familiar with the case might overlook.

The soreness in her shoulder is all but gone, but Castle is familiar with the area, so she lets him drive.

When they pull up in front of the hospital, he says, "So far, so good. Now how do we get in without people seeing me and freaking out?"

"I think I have an idea," she says. "Wait in the car. If you come after me and some obsessive fangirl or fanboy sees you, I won't be held responsible."

He grumbles, but he stays put. Ten minutes later, they've safely traversed the lobby and are riding the elevator upward.

"Did you have to buy out the whole gift shop?" he asks disgustedly as he bats a shiny mylar balloon out of his face.

"Do you really want people screaming and/or taking pictures if they catch a good look at you?"

"Not particularly," he says, "but I feel more conspicuous than Lady GaGa."

"People are looking at the balloons, Castle, not at you."

The elevator doors open with a soft chime. "Come on, we're here." They make their way down the hall to the room number that Kate got from the receptionist.

"Detective Beckett!" Alexis exclaims as she walks into the room. "What are you doing here?"

Kate grabs the handful of strings holding together the enormous balloon bouquet she used to disguise Castle. "I brought you a little something."

He ducks out from beneath the silvery mass.

"Dad?"

"Hey, sweetheart." He crosses the room and reaches her bedside in two long strides. They throw their arms around each other, and Kate realizes instantly that he was right. He had to come, for both their sakes.

"How are you feeling?" Castle pulls back and looks at her face anxiously as though trying to find some visual evidence of what was done to her.

"I'm _fine_," she insists with an emphasis that proves that she's been asked that question far too many times already today. "I missed you, though."

"I missed you too." He looks around the room. "Where's your grandmother? You shouldn't be left alone after what happened to you."

"She's getting some ice," Alexis explains. "And I feel great, Dad, really."

"Well, what about your mother?" he asks. "Why isn't she here?"

"She's still talking to the police," Martha says as she walks through the door with a cup of ice in one hand and a bottle of cola in the other. "She said she'd be by when she finished." She sets the cup and the drink on Alexis's tray and puts her arms around her son. They hold each other tightly for a long moment.

"You okay?" He asks, his voice rough.

"I will be." She blinks back a tear. "I'm glad you're here, Richard. It's been a difficult few days."

"Yeah. For all of us, I think," he says.

Martha comes toward Kate and gives her a long hug as well. "Thank you for bringing him."

"You're welcome." Kate pauses for a moment to enjoy the feeling of warmth and acceptance that she always gets when she's around his family. But they're here for business too, and she's waited as long as she can. "Alexis, I know you already spoke to the police, but we need to hear what happened again from you, if you don't mind."

They all perch on the hospital bed as Alexis begins her story. "Gram told you about the remembrance circle thing, right?"

"Right," Castle says.

"It was actually kind of nice. We sat outside, lit a fire, and shared our favorite memories of you, Dad. After a while, Dustin left because he said he felt strange being there since he didn't know you very well. When we went back inside, he had drinks ready for all of us—hot buttered rum for him, mom, and Gram, and a huge cup of hot chocolate for me. It tasted a little bitter, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so after a few sips, I took it into my bedroom and dumped it out the window."

"And he thought you drank the whole thing?" Kate asks.

"Well, he saw me carry the empty cup back to the kitchen a few minutes later, so, I guess so. I went straight to bed after that. I fell asleep, and I don't remember anything else until Gram woke me up this morning."

"You gave us all quite a scare," Castle says as he enfolds her hand between both of his.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Not what I meant," Castle says. "You did nothing wrong."

"We're just glad you're okay," Kate smiles.

"You are okay, right?" he asks. "What did the doctors say?"

"They're just doing some more blood tests to be sure there aren't any problems with liver or kidney function. They already said I can go home tomorrow. We can go home, can't we? I mean, back to New York?"

"Sure, sweetheart. You can pick out a hotel, or a vacation rental. We can go up to the house in the Hamptons. Whatever you want. It's going to take a little while to get our place fixed up."

The teen's eyes begin to well up as she's reminded that her home isn't habitable at the moment.

Kate takes the moment to pull her attention away from the events of the last few days. "Alexis, do you think I can get you to keep your dad out of trouble while I go meet up with my detectives?"

She's rewarded with a shy grin that shows that Alexis understands exactly what Kate is doing, but that she appreciates the effort nonetheless. "Of course you can. He won't get away with anything on _my_ watch."

"I appreciate it." She touches Castle's shoulder lightly. "I'll see you later."

"Hey," he says as he gets to his feet, "you weren't going to leave without a proper goodbye, were you?"

Slowly and very deliberately, he cups her face between his palms and tilts it upward before kissing her gently. Kate's eyes flutter closed, so she can only assume that the gasp is from Martha and the shrill squeal of delight is from Alexis. Castle kisses her just long enough to make it abundantly clear that this is no simple, friendly gesture of support. And, as usual, he leaves her wanting more.

"You mean you two are together now?" Alexis asks, her face aglow.

"We are," Castle says firmly. "I think I'm safe in assuming that you're okay with that."

"Are you kidding?" She grins delightedly, holds out a hand to Martha and rubs her fingers together expectantly.

"Honestly, darling, you'd think I'd know better by now than to bet against you." Martha opens her purse, takes a bill from her wallet and hands it to Alexis, who waves it in the air exultantly. "One hundred dollars, kiddo. That makes us even." She looks at them affectionately. "I thought you'd take at least another few months to come to your senses, Richard, but—" she takes Kate's hands in hers and kisses her cheek softly, "you don't know how happy I am to see I was wrong."

Castle's mouth drops open in astonishment. "What? My senses?" He looks pointedly at Kate. "What about her senses? I came to my senses a long time ago."

Kate can't resist taking advantage of that large an opening. "Oh, yeah? Just how long a time are we talking about here?"

He's saved from having to reply by the arrival of a nurse. Castle ducks quickly behind the privacy curtain to keep himself hidden while the nurse checks Alexis's vitals before leaving again.

"How much longer do you think you can keep that up?" Kate asks. "Someone's bound to catch a glimpse of you."

"Maybe they'll think I'm a ghost," he jokes. "I'm going to have to come clean in the next few days anyway."

Her phone rings. "It's Ryan," she says as she takes it out into the hall. Over the next few minutes, he fills her in on what the investigators have been able to piece together so far. The news isn't good.

She walks back into Alexis's room. "Do you think you spare him for a few minutes?"

"Sure." Alexis stands and pulls a robe over her gown. "But you don't have to go anywhere. We were just heading down to the cafeteria, weren't we, Gram?"

"Of course, darling," Castle's mother says indulgently. "Since you're rolling in my dough, I'll let you buy me a cup of what passes for coffee around here."

"We'll be gone at least half an hour, and the bed? Way more comfortable than it looks." Alexis grins cheekily at them and Martha winks as they leave and shut the door gently behind them.

Castle reads her expression. "What's going on?" he asks.

"The only fingerprints on the doorknob to Alexis's bedroom were hers and your mother's. The only prints on the phone used to text you were her own. The bottle of pills is the same kind Meredith uses, and it has prints from Evans, Meredith, and Alexis, but Alexis's appear to be superimposed on the others. Evans has already lawyered up, and he insists that they had the pills in the house for Meredith, and Alexis must have taken them. He covered his tracks really well, and, right now, it's her word against his. Unless we come up with something concrete to tie him to the bombing in your apartment, he's going to walk."

**End of Chapter 12**


	13. Chapter 13

After exactly one year, a little over 40k words, and more hours than I care to count, Fallout (a.k.a. The Story that ATE MY LIFE) is finally complete. There are plenty of great authors here who are lots more prolific than I am, but this is the most ambitious project that I've ever undertaken. Unfortunately, I grossly underestimated the amount of time and attention it was going to require from me. Then again, I also didn't expect that, through the process of bringing it to completion, I would fall in love with writing all over again. For everyone who's been reading from the very beginning, thanks. Your kind comments and encouragement kept me writing when both my time and my enthusiasm were in short supply. For people that jumped in along the way, I appreciate your willingness to read what was obviously a long-running work in progress. I'm planning on taking a few weeks off to actually read some fic instead of just writing it, but I still have two unfinished projects on the back burner. In short, I'll be back.

And, oh yeah, the characters are STILL not mine. (Although I'm beginning to feel a little possessive of them right about now...)

* * *

For _my _muse. She knows who she is.

* * *

**Fallout, Chapter 13**

The set of his jaw is grim. "So what do we do next?"

"The police can hold him for 48 hours. We use that time to serve the warrant. Look through his computer records, check his travel in and out of New York."

"And if you don't find anything?"

"We will."

Their shared thought hangs unspoken in the air between them. _We have to._

He slaps his palm against the wall in frustration. "I wish there was something I could _do_."

"There is. Talk to your family, especially to Meredith. See if any of them remembers anything that Evans might have said or done that might be significant."

"You know," he says bleakly, "it occurs to me that if we hadn't gone through with this little charade, he would never have gone after..."

"Stop." She touches her fingers to his lips. God knows she did her share of second-guessing herself after her mother's murder. It never accomplished a damn thing except to make her doubt her instincts when she needed them most. "You don't know that. Look, this guy is smart, and he's careful, and we have every reason to believe that he would have just tried again in some other way. We don't have time for self-flagellation, okay?"

His eyes are downcast, but he nods his acquiescence. She moves her fingertips from his mouth along the line of his jaw and finally to the back of his neck before pulling him close and kissing him gently. There's too much uncertainty about the future for the warmth between them to blossom into heat, but sometimes comfort is even more important than passion.

When she finally lets go of him, he seems steadier. "Take care of yourself," she says. "And of them."

"I will." He brushes his knuckles against her cheek as she turns to go. "Good luck."

* * *

Kate makes her way to Dustin Evans's apartment, where she's met outside by a beaming Ryan and a disgruntled-looking Esposito, both of whom are busily picking scraps and shreds of paper from their clothing.

"There's a community recycling bin here," Ryan explains, "but it only gets picked up every couple of weeks. Check out what our boy Javi found on our little dumpster diving excursion."

Esposito gives her a plastic baggie containing a slightly crumpled piece of paper. It's a handwritten letter to Evans.

_Hey, Dustin! (Calling you that feels weird, Bro! You'll always be Donnie to me.) _

_I know it's been a while since you've heard from me. The reason I'm writing to you today is because Teresa is sick, and she needs help. My income just isn't enough anymore, even though I've been working two jobs since October. _

The letter goes on for several more paragraphs. It's obviously the fundraising letter than Philip Jacobi sent out on Teresa's behalf. What's most remarkable about it, though, is that several letters, and in some places, combinations of letters, are circled in red ink. She looks at the ones in just the first few lines.

e st Ca B t ck le M O

With a little rearrangement and repetition of certain letters, it's not too hard to figure out a familiar group of words:

_Castle Beckett BOOM_

"Gotcha, you son of a bitch," she says softly. "Apparently his proclivity for forgery never went away entirely."

At Ryan's questioning glance, she says, "He stole from the Jacobis by forging checks when he lived with them."

"Too back they didn't prosecute his punk ass back then," Esposito says as he continues to brush shreds of paper from his jacket. "It might have saved us some time and Alexis a hospital visit if we'd known he was such a lowlife."

"You think it's enough to keep him in custody?" Ryan asks.

"Maybe," she says cautiously. "We need to see if we can find some paper here that matches the notes. Our originals don't have any prints, but with this letter and a match for paper and ink type, we might be able to hold him on charges of menacing and trespassing."

"That's a long way from attempted murder. Why would he even bother writing the notes, much less go to the time and effort to copy Jacobi's handwriting?"

Esposito nods thoughtfully. "I can see him maybe writing one to the publisher to throw us off the scent, but that's purely a low-risk move. He had to have broken into your place to have left that note under your bed."

"Don't forget that it's a risk that paid off," she says. "Money didn't look like a valid motive in the beginning. This letter is good, but it's not enough to put him away. There's another link somewhere between Evans and Jacobi, and we need to find it."

Hours later, the team finally finishes its search of Evans's place. A notepad of what looks to be the same type of paper as that used in the notes is taken into evidence, along with a box of envelopes, several different types of pens, and a box of plastic gloves.

Her father and his friend are already settled into the airport hotel, so, after a late dinner of overpriced sushi, she, Ryan, and Esposito check into a hotel near the hospital. She takes the opportunity to indulge in a very long, very hot shower. When she finally turns the water off and reaches through the billowing steam for a towel, she sees her phone next to the sink and notices that she missed a text from Martha.

_What are you wearing?_

She texts back:

_That had better be you, Castle._

Instead of replying, he just calls her. As soon as she answers, he says, "You never answered my question."

"I just got out of the shower, so I'm pretty sure an intellectual such as yourself can figure it out."

"Well, there are two obvious choices." She can hear the smile in his voice. "A towel, or nothing at all. Being the eternal optimist that I am, I'm going to vote for nothing."

Kate chuckles in spite of herself. "I see where she gets it."

"Where who gets what?" he asks.

"Where Alexis gets her resiliency. You were both targets of murder attempts over the last couple of days. And yet, you're both remarkably okay."

"It's the one positive trait we inherited from my mother—the ability to not only be aware of, but to embrace the fact that we're living in denial."

As she dries herself off, she tells him about Esposito's find and the seizure of the writing materials. It will take some time for the lab to run a complete analysis to see if the materials match what they already have in evidence. "So, how's Meredith?" she asks cautiously.

"Pissed off, freaked out, and concussed. Sounds a lot like our marriage, now that I think about it."

"Pissed off and freaked out, I can understand," she says, "but concussed? How does that remind you of your marriage?"

"She stepped on a skateboard I left in the living room once. Turns out hardwood floors are pretty damn hard. And there was that time I fell out of the tree on top of her."

She could ask, but she figures that there are some things that she's just better off not knowing about him.

He continues, "I had planned on having my mother tell Meredith that I was still alive, but, unfortunately, she walked into the room just as Alexis and my mother got back. Meredith saw me, fainted, and hit her head on the floor. The good news is that she got the room next to Alexis. I think it's good for her to have me here as a whipping boy. It keeps her mind off of Evans and what he tried to do."

"Did you get any useful information about him?"

"Not really. Alexis says she remembers him fiddling with his phone around the time of the explosion, but that's hardly admissible. Meredith just doesn't want to talk about him at all, but I'm sure if she knew something she thought might help, she would tell me."

"Is Alexis still scheduled to be released tomorrow?"

"All her blood tests came back fine, so yes, we can leave first thing in the morning. She and my mother did some surfing earlier and found a nice vacation rental in SoHo. It'll work until our place is fixed." He pauses for a few seconds. "I'm going to miss you tonight."

She looks at the queen-sized bed in her room. After last night, it's going to feel uncomfortably roomy. "I'll miss you too. Good night, Castle."

"Until tomorrow, Detective." he says softly.

* * *

The flight back to New York is uneventful. Still processing the events of the last few days, Alexis tends to cling to her father, which suits Kate just fine. She spends her time planning her strategy for interrogating Philip Jacobi. Now that they have the marked letter and a tentative link between the two, she wants to use it as a wedge to pry Jacobi away from his misplaced loyalty to Evans.

When they arrive back at the airport, Ryan takes Castle and his family to their new home away from home. Kate says a quick goodbye to her father, and then she and Esposito head directly to the precinct. After a quick briefing with the captain, she has Philip Jacobi brought back into one of the interrogation rooms. He looks sullen and withdrawn, as though he's finally begun to realize that this is, and will continue to be, his new normal for a very long time.

She doesn't pull any punches. "Dustin Evans is in custody. That name ring a bell, or would you prefer Donald Eckersly?" She doesn't have to look very hard for a tell.

His shoulders twitch reflexively, and then relax. "I know him. So what?"

"So you wrote him a letter about your mother being sick. He wrote a couple of letters too." She takes the plastic-protected "BOOM" letter and the "Made you look!" note out of her portfolio and places them on the table in front of Jacobi. She gives him sufficient time to read them and connect the dots. "If the writing looks familiar, it's with good reason." Now she shows him the red-marked letter that they found mixed in with the recycling. "He took your words, Philip; he took your _writing_ and used it against you."

"I—" he swallows hard. "I don't have anything to say."

"Evans isn't talking, either." She leans back in her chair and steeples her fingers together. "He didn't even have to throw you under the bus, because you crawled right out in front of it. What kind of money did he promise you? We already know about the ten grand. Your mother gave us what was left of it, and no matter what, there won't be any more now. She's on her own."

He looks at her intently, with abject misery in his eyes. "You ever have a mother, detective?"

He can't know just how much of a sore spot he just hit. She struggles inwardly to keep her composure. "Doesn't everyone?"

"No. Having a baby doesn't make a woman a mother any more than pounding a nail into a two-by-four makes me a architect." His expression grows hard. "There was a woman I knew for the first ten years of my life. Whenever she got her drugs or her drink on, I would hide in the closet, under the cabinets, behind the couch, anyplace I could find, hoping like hell she wouldn't find me before she passed out. Sometimes I got lucky." He shrugs. "Mostly, I didn't. The last couple of years, we didn't have anywhere to go. There's not too many places to hide when you're living in a car."

"So I left. Being on my own was the best thing that ever happened to me, until I found the Jacobis. Frank was a good man. He gave me his name and a future. But Teresa helped me with my tie when I went to the prom, she fixed me pancakes with funny faces made out of chocolate chips, and she never complained when I outgrew my shoes three times in one year." He blinks back tears, and his voice grows hoarse. "I just wanted to pay her back, you know? Her doctors say she has a chance of beating it, but not if she can't afford the treatment." He looks around the interrogation room desperately. "He said he would take care of her if I couldn't. No one was supposed to get hurt. I never thought something like this would happen."

"Something happened, all right," she says softly. "He tried to murder someone else yesterday." Jacobi shudders visibly and begins rocking back and forth in his chair. He's so close. She pushes just a little harder. "Is that the type of person that your mother would want taking care of her? Tell me everything you know, take a polygraph to back it up, and I'll do whatever I can to get you a deal."

He blinks, bows his head, and finally breaks. "He showed up at my apartment about three months ago..."

* * *

"So that's what we have to work with." Kate points out the latest additions to the murder board that she's moved into the isolated conference room in what's becoming an increasingly difficult effort to keep Castle's continued ability to draw breath under wraps. They managed to get him from the parking lot into the conference room with nothing more than a few odd looks and a shout from down the hall as they entered the elevator, but she knows it's just a matter of time before the news is all over the precinct. "Evans got Jacobi to steal the explosives and build the bomb by convincing him that he was going to use it to blow a safe. They shared the risks—Jacobi by taking the explosives and constructing the device, and Evans by planting the bomb, detonating it, and taking the cash. They were supposed to share the rewards as well, except, as we all know, blowing a safe was never Evans's intent."

The captain asks, "So is Evans is sticking to his story about not having seen Jacobi since he moved to California?"

Ryan swivels around in his chair. "I put a call in to California an hour or so ago. That's what he said yesterday, and his story hasn't changed."

Esposito adds, "I showed Evans's picture around to Jacobi's neighbors. No one remembers seeing him."

"The thing that bothers me is the money." She reaches into the evidence box next to her and pulls out the plastic bag containing the envelope and the few hundred dollar bills that were left of the original ten thousand. "Even though they were due to split the money afterward, Jacobi said that Evans gave him ten grand in new hundreds the day that he picked up the bomb, probably to buy his silence if anything went wrong. There weren't any withdrawals from his bank accounts that would account for that kind of money, so where did he come up with it?"

Castle grabs the bag and looks at the money excitedly. "New, uncirculated hundreds. Oh my God," he says abruptly. "I can't believe I forgot about that, but once we found out about Alexis..."

"Whatever it is, you can tell us now," the captain says.

Castle looks at Kate intently. "Do you remember me telling you that Evans was trying to drum up financial support to make his movie?"

"Don't tell me—" she starts.

"I gave him ten thousand dollars. In cash."

"You mean, you paid for a hit?" Ryan asks. "On _yourself?_"

Esposito shakes his head. "Man, that is messed _up_."

"Any chance you have the serial numbers of the money you gave him?" Montgomery asks.

"No," Castle says, "but you should have what's left dusted for prints."

"I already did," she says.

"I thought you said they were uncirculated," Ryan protests.

"Not entirely," Kate says. "There were six bills left. They looked new, but I had them checked anyway, and there were some usable prints on them. We compared them to Dustin Evans and Philip Jacobi, but we didn't get a match for either one, so I didn't think it worth mentioning. Some of the prints belonged to Teresa Jacobi, but there are more that are unaccounted for."

"I know whose prints those are." Castle raises his hand. "Alexis did an experiment at school involving money. She was analyzing the amount of cocaine residue on circulated hundred-dollar bills and she needed uncirculated ones for a baseline. I got her a bundle of hundreds from the bank to test, and when she was done, she rebanded them and put them back in my safe. It left me with more cash than I normally like to have on hand, so when Evans asked me for money for his film, I just gave him the whole bundle. The other prints have to belong to Alexis."

"Confirm that with the lab," Montgomery tells her, "and as soon as you do, let me know. I want to see Evans try to explain how money with Alexis Castle's fingerprints on it ended up in the hands of Philip Jacobi." The captain gets to his feet. "I'm going to get on the phone right now and get the ball rolling for the extradition of Evans to New York. I smell a charge for attempted murder, and it's about damn time. By the way, the mayor's called a press conference in two hours and he insists that you," he points at Castle and Beckett, "both be there."

She squeezes Castle's arm gently as she gathers her things up. "I need to check in with the crew in the lab, but I'll be back when I can."

* * *

When she gets back, Castle's pacing agitatedly along one wall of the conference room while stretching the cord of the room's phone to its limit. "Yes, I do realize that I have a lot of nerve asking you for a favor after letting you think I was dead, but I'm sure you can agree that this is the right thing to do. Right. Okay. Thanks, Gina."

He hangs up and looks at her. "Well, that went better than I expected."

"It didn't sound like it went very well at all."

"The thing you have to understand about Gina is that she never lets her narcissism interfere with her business sense. She's irritated because I let her think I was dead, but she won't let that get in the way of doing what's best for Black Pawn. Now tell me what you got from the lab."

"Well," she smiles, "not only did they confirm that the prints on the money belonged to Alexis, but the paper, envelope, and ink samples we got from Evans's apartment all matched the notes we already have in evidence. We matched Evans's travel records to the times when Jacobi says they were in contact, so everything he's told us checks out. With Jacobi's testimony, we finally have enough to put him away."

The chief pokes his head in. "The mayor's almost done reviewing the case. You'd better get out there."

Castle shuffles the papers in his hands as they follow the chief to the briefing room where the press conference is being held. "You know, I was really hoping I'd have a little time to talk to you about this first."

He's making her very nervous. "Talk to me about what, Castle?"

He stops at the entrance to the room and takes her hand. "Look, just promise me that you won't make any snap judgments without hearing the full story. I think I've earned that much."

She doesn't have any time to reply before they're suddenly thrust out in front of the pool of reporters. A collective shout runs through the room as they recognize Castle. She makes her way through the crowd to the back of the room as the mayor wraps up the details of their investigation, Castle's assistance in solving the case, and the coming extradition of Dustin Evans to New York to await trial.

Finally, the hubbub quiets a little, and Castle takes the microphone. He's addressing the entire room, but his eyes are riveted on hers. "As a near and very dear friend of mine recently reminded me, a homicide usually leaves more than one victim behind. Family and friends often struggle in the aftermath of these crimes. I'm pleased to announce the formation of the Johanna Beckett Victims' Advocacy Foundation. The foundation will help provide counseling services as well as financial assistance for those coping with a loss of income in addition to the loss of a loved one. I'll be donating all of the proceeds of the sales of my novels during the last week to the foundation, as well as a percentage of all future sales of Nikki Heat novels. Black Pawn, my publisher, has also agreed to donate its profits from all of my books purchased during the last week."

There's more, but her mind refuses to focus on anything but the way he used her mother's name. It's a fitting legacy—her mother always championed people who had no voice of their own—but she's concerned about how her father might take it. Castle should have asked, dammit, but she wants to hear his explanation. She owes him that, at the very least.

He finishes his statement, answers questions until they start to get repetitive, and leaves the room escorted by enough uniforms to keep the newshounds at bay. She's almost arrived back at her desk when she gets a text:

_south stairwell, third floor_

Apparently, he's found a place secluded enough for them to have a few minutes alone. When she gets there, he's ready with an explanation before she can say a word.

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you about this before. I wasn't entirely sure I'd have Gina's buy-in." He hands her a sheet of paper with an embossed header. "What do you think of the foundation's letterhead? Alexis designed it."

She scans it quickly. "My name is on here."

"Of course it is. So's your father's." He points to the line above her name. _James Beckett_. "You're both on the board of trustees."

"Why?" she asks.

"I asked his permission before doing anything else. He was only willing to let me use your mother's name if he got to have some oversight into how the money was distributed. I thought it was a terrific idea. I'm glad I'll be able to work with him."

"No, I mean, why start this foundation?"

"Well, it's just like I said in the press conference. Solving the homicide is only part of the equation. There are people out there that need other kinds of help."

She has no idea how much money Castle might have earned in the last few days, but she knows exactly where to put it to good use. "Would you mind if we started with Teresa Jacobi?"

"We'll go out to Brooklyn tomorrow, if you like." He bends down and runs his lips lightly over the place on her neck where he marked her what seems like a lifetime ago. "I promised I'd make it up to you, remember? So...am I forgiven?"

She remembers wondering what he'd do for her, whether he'd take her to dinner, or away for a weekend. She never imagined that he'd find a way to make her work even more meaningful.

"Yes." She wipes away a tear as she kisses him twice—once for herself, and once for her mother. Her arms wind around his neck as she hugs him tightly, "Thank you."

* * *

They spend the next several days in a holding pattern. Castle has a ton of legal matters to attend to along with getting his place fixed and spending time with Alexis and his mother. All of the paperwork that she back-burnered during the case comes full circle. Evans's lawyer fights his extradition, and the D.A. fights giving Jacobi a deal, but she eventually emerges from both battles victorious.

The two of them manage to squeeze in a few phone calls and texts here and there, as well as a desk-side lunch at the precinct, but it's not enough for either of them. Then, out of the blue, she comes back from a meeting late one afternoon to find him sitting in his usual chair beside her desk. He's armed with a broad grin and an invitation to Lanie's favorite pizza place, so she immediately punts her last two files to Ryan and Esposito, reschedules a meeting, and leaves arm-in-arm with him, not particularly caring whether or not anyone sees that they're together.

The pizza is still terrific, and the company is even better, and he doesn't seem at all surprised when she asks him if he'd like to go to her place. She, however, is surprised when he declines.

"Why don't we go to mine instead?" he asks as he takes her hands in his and smoothes his fingertips across the new nails that are just beginning to grow in. "I'd like you to see what we've done with the place."

"Do you mean that it's done already?" she asks, incredulous.

"It's done." He pulls her to her feet and enfolds her hand gently in his as they walk back out to the sidewalk. "My mother and Alexis are spending one last night at the rental, though. Alexis wanted to throw a slumber party there, so I think I can probably kiss my security deposit goodbye, but she deserves some fun."

After the last couple of weeks, they all do. He continues to hold her hand all the way to his place, letting go only to pay the cabbie.

"I'm just amazed that you were able to get everything fixed so quickly," she says as they enter the elevator. He must have had people working around the clock.

"The damage wasn't as bad as it looked." His expression is grim for just a moment before his mouth relaxes into a smile. "Which is good, because it _looked _like something from Dante's sixth circle of hell."

When they finally arrive at his door, he opens it and stands to the side so that she can walk in first. "It's beautiful now," she says as she turns to survey the entire room. The colors are warm and inviting, the kitchen has been redesigned to have a more open feel, and the new furnishings look solid, but comfortable.

"Yes, beautiful," he echoes softly, but his eyes are riveted on her. "It feels a little strange, though. New furniture, new flooring, new fixtures, new windows, new paint." He puts a fingertip beneath her chin and tilts her face up to meet his as he kisses her softly. "New us."

She opens her mouth beneath his touch, tries to deepen the kiss, but, inexplicably, he pulls away.

"Come on, I want you to see something." He takes the stairs two at a time and stops in front of what she assumes to be his bedroom. "Now, you're either going to think this is fabulous, or you're going to go back to the precinct to write up a restraining order. I'm hoping for the former."

She's surprised and, at first, a little overwhelmed by the room. It's eerily similar to her bedroom in her apartment. Not an exact replica, or she'd be tempted to go for the restraining order in spite of all they've been through together, but the rug, the pillows, the curtains, the bookcases, even the style of furniture are all very much like what she chose for her own place. She crosses over to his bed and sits on it experimentally. "It's a little higher than mine."

"I could have it lowered if you like," he offers.

"No, it's okay," she says softly. "I can get used to it."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad it doesn't creep you out. I wanted a change," he explains, "and I wanted you to be comfortable here. Asking you to pick out swatches seemed a little obvious, so I figured I'd go with things I knew you'd love."

She slides off of the bed and moves to stand in front of one of the open windows. The new curtains waver and twist in the cool breeze as she puts her hands on the sill and takes a long, deep breath before turning to face him. "It's not the _things _in this room that I love."

"Kate—" He pulls her into his arms and then frowns. "You're shivering. Here, I'll close the windows."

She's not cold. She's trembling with emotion, and with excitement, and with so much pent-up _want_ that there's not room in her for anything else right now.

She wraps her hands in his hair, pulls his head down to hers, and kisses him hard. This time, there are no phones, no doorbells, and no well-intentioned coworkers to interrupt them. There's just the two of them, and their only source of frustration is the few fleeting seconds when they have to break their kiss long enough to remove a piece of clothing.

They've waited far too long for there to be much in the way of gentleness here tonight. He breaks the clasp of her bra trying to undo it, murmuring, "I'll buy you a new one. I'll buy you a _dozen_ new ones." She runs her hands across his broad back, irritated at the fact that he's still wearing his shirt. There's too much fabric and not enough _him, _and he chuckles when she finally manages to do away with it. The last vestiges of clothing are thrown to the floor and she settles herself on his bed, grateful for the fact that she's the first (and, if she has her way, only) woman brought into it.

Kate closes her eyes and fills her senses with him—the warm, spicy scent of his aftershave, his breathing ragged in her ears, the touch of his hands all over her body—tentative at first, then firm, then downright _demanding_. She expected that they would be good together, but they're better than good—they're _amazing,_ and it doesn't take her long at all to discover the advantages inherent in having a mattress at the same height as his hips. Then her mind is filled with kaleidoscope images—tumbling, spinning, fracturing all around her. She teeters for a moment, gasping, trembling, and then, oh, God, _falling, _but for once unafraid, because she's always known that this is how their story would play out. This isn't just about what they do, but who they are. Author and muse. Creator and inspiration.

She grounds him, and he gives her wings.

Her voice doesn't break on his name so much as it shatters along with the rest of her—not on "Richard", or even "Rick", but on a shaky, uneven "_Castle"._

He doesn't seem to mind.

**End of Chapter 13**

_fin_


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